LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

Shell, fi\ t 



UNITED STATES OF R 



JACOB ABBOTT'S 



YOUNG CHRISTIAN SERIES. *■ 



IN FOUR VOLUMES. 

I. THE YOUNG CHRISTIAN. 
II. THE CORNER STONE. 

III. THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

IV. HOARYHEAD AND M'DONNER. 



VERY GREATLY IMPROVED AND ENLARGED. 



OTftfj numerous 3Engrabfitgg, 



NEW YORK: 
A R P E R & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, 

329 & 3 3 1 PEARL STRKET, 
FRANKLIN SQUARE. 

13 74. 



T 



THE 

WAY TO DO GOOD, 

BY JACOB ABBOTT, 

VERY GREATLY IMPROVED AND ENLARGED. 

WMify numerous SEngrabtngs. 




■ c ° r - A 

E W Y O R K- : -£ f *1 dr..r.:ji 
ROTHEKS, PUBLISHERS, 



NEW Y 



HARPER <fc 

3 2 9 & 331 PEARL STREET, 

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Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1852, by 

HARPER & BROTHERS, 

In the Clerk's Office for the Southern District of New York. 

Copyright, 1880, by Benjamin Vaughan Abbott, Austin Abbott, 
Lyman Abbott, Edward Abbott. 



PREFACE. 



The works comprised in the Young Christian series 
are the following : 

I. The Young Christian ; or, a Familiar Illustration 
of the Principles of Christian Duty. 

II. The Corner Stone ; or, a Familiar Illustration of 
the Principles of Christian Truth. 

III. The "Way to do Gtood ; or, the Christian Char- 
acter Mature. 

IY. Hoaryhead and M'Donner ; or the Radical Na- 
ture of the Change in Spiritual Regeneration. 

The Young Christian, the first volume of the series, 
is intended as a guide to the young inquirer in first en- 
tering upon his Christian course. Like the other vol- 
umes of the series, the work is intended, not for chil- 
dren, nor exclusively for the young, but for all who are 
first commencing a religious life, whatever their years 
may be. Since, however, it proves, in fact, that such 
beginners are seldom found among those who have 
passed beyond the early periods of life, the author has 
kept in mind the wants and the mental characteristics 



of youtli, rather than those of maturity, in the form in 
which he has presented the truths brought to view, and 
in the narratives and dialogues with which he has at- 
tempted to illustrate them. 

In respect to the theology of the work, it takes every 
where for granted that salvation for the human soul is 
to he obtained through repentance for past sin, and 
through faith and trust in the merits and atonement of 
our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Its main design, 
however, is to enforce the practice, and not to discuss 
the theory, of religion. Its object is simply to explain 
and illustrate Christian duty, exhibiting this duty, how- 
ever, as based on those great fundamental principles of 
faith in which all evangelical Christians concur. 

The Corner Stone, the second volume of the series, 
though intended to explain and illustrate certain great 
religious truths, is not a work of technical theology. 
Its aim is simply to present, in a plain and very prac- 
tical manner, a view of some of the great fundamental 
truths of revealed religion, on which the superstructure 
of Christian character necessarily reposes. The char- 
acter and history of Jesus Christ, considered as the chief 
Corner Stone of the Christian faith, form the main sub- 
jects of the volume ; and the principles of faith which 
are brought to view are presented to the reader, as they 
are seen in the Scriptures, centring in him. 



The Way to do Good, the third volume of the series, 
is designed to present a practical view of a life of Chris- 
tian usefulness, and to exhibit in a very plain and sim- 
ple manner the way in which a sincere and honest fol- 
lower of Jesus is to honor his sacred profession and ad- 
vance his Master's cause, by his daily efforts to promote 
the welfare and happiness of those around him. 

Hoaryhead and M'Donner, the fourth and last vol- 
ume of the series, consists of two connected tales, de- 
signed to illustrate the very radical character of the 
change by which the Christian life is begun. 

In the treatment of the various topics discussed in 
these volumes, the author has made it his aim to divest 
the subject of religion of its scholastic garb, and to pre- 
sent in all plainness and simplicity, and in a manner 
adapted to the intellectual wants of common readers, 
the great fundamental principles of truth and duty. It 
is now many years since the volumes of this series were 
first issued, and during that time they have been pub- 
lished, in whole or in part, very extensively through- 
out the Christian world. Besides the wide circulation 
which the series has enjoyed in this country, numerous 
editions, more or less complete, have been issued in En- 
gland, Scotland, Ireland, France, Germany, Holland, 
India, and at various missionary stations throughout 



the globe. The extended approbation which the Chris- 
tian community have thus bestowed upon the plan, and 
the increasing demand for copies of the several volumes, 
have led to the republication of the series at this time 
in a new and much improved form. The works have 
all been carefully revised by the author for this edition, 
and they are embellished with numerous illustrative 
engravings, which it is hoped may aid in making them 
attractive for every class of readers. 
New York, February, 1855. 



CONTENTS 



CHAPTER I. 

Page 
WORKS AND FAITH, OK THE STORY OF ALONZO, . . 13 

CHAPTER II. 

MOTIVES, 54 

CHAPTER III. 

OURSELVES, „ 85 

CHAPTER IV. 

THE POOR, 120 

CHAPTER V. 

PROMOTION OF PERSONAL PIETY, . . . . ; .145 

CHAPTER VI. 

PUBLIC MORALS, 187 



X CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER VII. 

Page 
THE CHURCH AND CHRISTIAN UNION, ..... 208 



CHAPTER VIII. 

THE SICK, 246 

CHAPTER IX. 

CHILDREN, , 281 

CHAPTER X. 

INSTRUCTION, . . 327 

CHAPTER XL 

PROPERTY AS A MEANS OF DOING GOOD, . . . 369 

CHAPTER XII. 

CONCLUSION, . .... . 392 



ENGRAVINGS 



THE GRELN MOUNTAINS, . . . . . .13 

ALONZO, 31 

THE BRIDE, . . .37 

HOME, - . 55 

THE VISIT, 58 

THE SEA-SHORE, 72 

THE REFORM, 82 

JAMES, 94 

THE TRAVELERS, .109 

INSUBMISSION, • . . 115 

THE BEGGAR GIRL, 126 

THE CABIN, . 139 

THE INTERIOR, 140 

THE POST-OFFICE, 157 

JOHN THE BAPTIST, . . . . . . . .164 

THE WILD FLOWERS. . 185 

ASSUMED AUTHORITY, . . . . . . .192 

MILITARY GOVERNMENT, 205 

CHILDISH CONCEPTIONS, . . . . , . .210 

THE CATHEDRAL, 236 

THE CRIPPLE, 249 

THE SICK CHAMBER, 264 

FIRST STEPS, , 288 



Xll ENGRAVINGS. 

Page 

COUNTING, 293 

THE BALLOON, 297 

THE BOAT, 306 

THE SNOW-BIRDS, ... .... 321 

THE BOTANIST, 331 

ERROR, 357 

A HOME, 376 

THE WAGON, 379 

THE WOOL MERCHANT, 387 

SUFFERING, c 395 

THE FOUNTAIN, 399 




THE WAY- TO DO GOOD 



CHAPTER I. 

WORKS AND FAITH, OR THE STORY OF ALONZO. 
" Created in Christ Jesus unto good works." 



Works 



faith. 



The exact nature of the connection which subsists between 
faith and good works, in the salvation of man, is a subject 
which, in a volume on The Way to Do Good, ought to be 
well understood at the outset. I can best convey to my 
young reader what I wish to say on this point by relating to 
him the story of Alonzo. 



14 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Aloii2o's borne. The farm-yard. Occupations of childhood. 

Alonzo was a Vermont boy. His father lived in one of 
those warm and verdant dells which give a charm to the 
scenery of the Green Mountains. The low, broad farmhouse, 
with its barns and sheds, hay-stacks and high woodpiles, 
made almost a little village, as they lay spread out in a 
sunny opening near the head of the glen. A winding road 
repeatedly crossing a brook which meandered among the trees, 
down the valley, guided the traveler to the spot. The wide 
yard was filled with domestic animals, the sheds were well 
stored with the utensils of the farm, lilac trees and rose 
bushes ornamented the front of the dwelling, and from the 
midst of a little green lawn upon one side of the house, was 
a deep clear spring, walled in with moss-covered stones, and 
pouring up continually from below, a full supply of cool, clear 
water. A group of willows hung over the spring, and a 
well-trod footpath led to it from the house. 

A smooth flat stone lay before the " end door," as they 
called it, which led to the spring. Here, during the second 
year of his life, Alonzo might have been seen almost every 
sunny day, playing with buttercups and daisies, or digging 
with the kitchen shovel in the earth before the door, or 
building houses of corn-cobs, brought for his amusement, in 
a basket, from the granary. The next summer, had you 
watched him, you would have observed that his range was 
wider, and his plans of amusement a little more enlarged. 
He had a garden, two feet square, where he planted green 
sprigs, broken from the shrubs around him, and he would 
make stakes with a dull house knife, partly for the pleasure 
of making them, and partly for the pleasure of driving them 
into the ground. He would ramble up and down the path 
a little way, and sometimes go with his mother down to the 
spring, to see her dip the bright tin pail into the water, and 
to gaze with astonishment at the effect of the commotion, — 
for the stony wall of the spring seemed always to be broken 



WORKS AND FAITH. 15 



The phenomenon. A struggle. Dialogue with conscience. 

to pieces, and its fragments to wave and float about in con- 
fusion, until gradually they returned to their places and to 
rest, and then, for aught he could see, looked exactly as be- 
fore. This extraordinary phenomenon astonished him again 
and again. 

One day Alonzo's mother saw him going alone, down to- 
ward the spring. He had got the pail, and was going to 
try the wonderful experiment himself. His mother called 
him back, and forbade his ever going there alone. " If 
you go there alone," said she, "you will fall in and be 
drowned." 

Alonzo was not convinced by the reason, but he was 
awed by the command, and for many days he obeyed. At 
length, however, when his mother was occupied in another 
part of the house, he stole away softly down the path a little 
way. 

There was a sort of a struggle going on within him while 
he was doing this. " Alonzo," said Conscience, for even 
at this early age, conscience had begun to be developed, 
" Alonzo, this is very wrong." 

Conscience must be conquered, if conquered at all, not by 
direct opposition, but by evasion and deceit, and the deceiv- 
ing and deceitful tendencies of the heart are very early de- 
veloped. 

" I am not going down to the spring," said Alonzo to him- 
self, " I am only going down the path, a little way." 

" Alonzo," said Conscience, again, " this is wrong." 

" Mother will not see me, and I shall not go quite down tc 
the water, so that no harm will be done," said the child to 
himself in reply, — and went hesitatingly on. 

"Alonzo," said Conscience, a third time, but with a 
feebler voice, — "you ought not to go any farther." 

" My mother is too strict with me, — there can be no harm 
in my walking as far as this." 



T6 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Early sin. Its nature. Sulf-Uoception. 

He lingered a little while about half-way down the path, 
and then slowly returned, — the dialogue between Conscience 
and his heart going on all the time. The latter had suc- 
ceeded so well in its artful policy, that when' he came back, 
he really hardly knew whether he had done wrong or not. 
It did not seem quite right, and a certain restless uneasiness 
at the recollection of it remained on his mind ; but his heart 
had succeeded by its evasions and subterfuges in making so 
much of a question of the whole transaction, that he could 
not really decide that it was actually wrong. Alonzo had 
been taught that God had made him, and that he watched 
over him at all times, hut somehow or other he did not hap- 
pen to think of him at all during this affair. He had also 
understood something of his obligations to his mother, for her 
kindness and love to him ; — hut he did not happen to think 
of her now in this light. The contest consisted simply, on 
the one side, of the low murmurings of conscience, sternly 
insisting that he was wrong, and on the other, the turnings 
and shiftings and windings of a deceitful heart attempting to 
quiet her, or at least to drown her remonstrances. 

I have dwelt thus particularly upon the philosophy of this 
early sin, "because this was the way in which Alonzo commit- 
ted all his sins for many years afterward. Conscience made 
him uncomfortable while he was transgressing, hut then his 
heart contrived such a variety of evasions and queries, and 
Drought in so many utterly foreign considerations, that when- 
ever he was doing any thing wrong, he never seemed to 
have, at the time while he was doing it, a distinct idea that 
it ivas clearly and positively wrong. For instance, a few 
days after the transaction above described, his mother had 
gone away, — intending to be absent some hours, — and his 
eister who had the care of him, had left him alone at the 
door. He took up the pail, and began to walk slowly down 
the path. Conscience, defeated before, and familiarized to a 



WORKS AND FAITH. 17 

A second transgression. Progress in sin. 

certain degree of transgression, allowed him to go without 
opposition a part of the way, hut when she perceived that 
he was actually approaching the spring, she shook her head, 
and renewed her low, solemn murmuring. 

" Alonzo, Alonzo, you must not go there." 

"I shall not fall in, I know," said Alonzo to himself. 

"Alonzo! — Alonzo! — Alonzo !" said Conscience again, — 
" you must not disohey." 

Alonzo tried not to hear her, and instead of answering, he 
said to himself, 

" It was many days ago, that she told me not to come. 
She did not mean never." 

This was true literally, and yet it may seem surprising 
that Alonzo could for one instant deceive himself with suet 
an argument. But any pretense is sufficient to deceive our 
selves with when we wish to sin. In such cases we love tc 
he deceived. 

While saying that his mother could not have meant that 
he must never come, Alonzo leaned over the spring, and 
tremhlingly plunged in his pail. The magic effect was 
produced. The stones and moss waved and quivered, to 
Alonzo' s inexpressible delight. His mind was hi a state of 
feverish excitement, — Conscience calling upon him, and in 
vain endeavoring to make him hear, — fear whispering eager- 
ly that he might he seen, — and curiosity urging him again 
and again to repeat his wonderful experiment. 

Alonzo was a very little child, and the language in which I 
am obliged to describe his mental states, and the words with 
which I clothe his thoughts, may seem more mature than 
the reality in such a case could have been. In fact they 
are so. He could not have used such language, and yet it 
describes correctly the thoughts and feelings which really 
passed within his bosom. 

At length, he hastily drew out his pail, and went back to 



18 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

The heart deceitful above all thing9. Progress. Influence of odueai ion. 

the house. Conscience endeavored then, when the excite- 
ment of the experiment was over, to gain his attention. His 
heart, still hent on deceiving and being deceived, evaded the 
subject. 

"My mother said," thought he, " that I should fall in, and 
be drowned if I went there, and I did not fall in ; I knew I 
should not fall in." 

Thus, instead of thinking of his guilt and disobedience, he 
was occupied with the thought of the advantage which" he 
had gained over his mother, — that is, the heart which ought 
to have been penitent and humbled, under the burden of 
sin, was deluding itself with the false colors which it had 
spread over its guilt, and was filled with deceit and self- 
congratulation. 

Year after year passed on, and Alonzo grew in strength 
and stature ; but he continued much the same in heart. In- 
stead of playing on the round, flat door stone, he at length 
might be seen riding on his father's plow, — or tossing about 
the drying grass in the mowing field, — or gathering berries 
upon the hillside, on some summer afternoon. He was con- 
tinually committing sins in the manner already described. 
These sins were different in circumstance and character as 
he grew older, but their nature, so far as the feelings of the 
heart were concerned, were the same. There was the same 
murmuring of conscience ; there were the same windings 
and evasions of his heart ; the same self-deception ; the same 
success in leading himself to doubt whether the act of aggres- 
sion, which for the time being he was committing, was right 
or wrong. His parents, in most respects, brought him up 
well. They taught him his duty, and when they knew that 
he did wrong, they remonstrated with him seriously, or, if 
necessary, they punished him. Thus his conscience was 
cherished, and kept alive, as it were, and he was often 
deterred by her voice from committing many sins. She held 



WORKS AND FAITH. 19 



Alonzo's virtuos. His piety. 

him much in check. His parents formed in him many good 
habits which he adhered to faithfully as habits, — and thus so 
far as the influence of his parents^ could go, in aiding con- 
science, and in habituating him to certain duties, — so far he 
■war, in most cases, deterred from the commission of sin. In 
othsr things, however, that is those to which these influences 
did not reach, he sinned without scruple. For example, he 
would have shuddered at stealing, even a pin, from his sister ; 
but he would by unreasonable wishes and demands, give her 
as much trouble, and occasion her as much loss of enjoyment, 
as if he had stolen a very valuable article from her. If he 
had undertaken to steal a little picture from her desk, con- 
science would have thundered so terribly, that he could not 
possibly have proceeded ; but he could tease and vex her by 
his unreasonable and selfish conduct, without any remorse. 
If his heart had been honest and shrewd in discovering its 
own real character, these cases would have taught him that 
his honesty was artificial and accidental, and did not rest on 
any true foundation, — but his heart was not honest, nor 
shrewd in respect to itself ; it loved to be deceived, and when 
he read of a theft in a story-book, he took great pleasure in 
thinking what a good, honest boy he himself was. 

So he would not, on any account, have omitted to say his 
prayers, morning and night ; but whenever he committed 
sin in the course of the day, he never thought of going away 
alone before God to confess it, and to ask forgiveness. Now 
if his heart had been honest and shrewd in discovering his 
own character, this would have taught him that his piety 
was all a mere form, and that he had no real affection for 
God. But his heart was not thus honest and shrewd, and 
though he never thought much about it, he still had an im- 
pression on his mind that he was the friend of God, and that 
he regularly worshiped him. He knew very well that he 
sometimes committed sin, but he imagined that it was very 



20 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

The way to manage conscience. Alonzo's discovery. 

seldom that he did so. For as we have already explained, 
it was very seldom, when he was actually engaged in trans- 
gression, that he had a distinct and clear conception that 
what he was then doing was positively wrong. He always 
so far succeeded in blinding or misleading conscience as to 
make it doubtful. And if he could succeed in making a 
question of it, he would go and commit the sin. with a half- 
formed idea of examining the case afterward. But then when 
the pleasure of the sin was over, he found that the moral 
character of the transaction was, somehow or other, rather a 
disagreeable subject to investigate ; so he left it, laid away, 
as it were, in his memory, to fester and rankle there. And 
though he had such a number of these recolleetions as to 
give him no little uneasiness and annoyance, he still thought 
he was a very virtuous and promising young man. 

One day, Alonzo made a discovery which startled and 
alarmed him a little. He was about twelve years old. 
Some young men had formed a plan of ascending a certain 
mountain summit, the extremity of a lofty ridge, which pro- 
jected like a spur from the main range, and which reared 
its rocky head among the # clouds, in full view from his fa- 
ther's door. They had fixed upon Sabbath evening for this 
purpose, an hour or two before sunset. " A great many peo- 
ple, you know," said one of the boys, " think that the Sabbath 
ends at sunset, and an hour or so before will not make any 
great difference. We must be up in season to see the sun go 
down." This disposal of the difficulty was abundantly satis- 
factory to all those who were inclined to go, but Alonzo had 
some doubts whether it would appear equally conclusive to 
his father and mother. One thing favored, however. His 
father was away, having been absent on some business for 
the town, for several days ; and Alonzo thought that there 
was at least a possibility that his mother would find the de- 
ficiencies in the reasoning made up by a little extra per- 



WORKS AND FAITH. 21 

Asking mother. Maternal firmness. Effects. 

suasion, and that her consent to his sharing in the pleasure 
of the excursion would be obtained. At any rate, it was 
plainly worth while to try. 

He accordingly came in on Saturday afternoon, and stand* 
ing by the side of his mother, who was finishing some sewing 
necessary to complete her preparations for the Sabbath, with 
much hesitancy and circumlocution he preferred his request. 
She listened to him with surprise, and then told him he must 
not go. 

" It would be very wrong," said she. 

" But, mother, we shall walk along very still ; we will 
not laugh or play. It will only be taking a little walk after 
sunset." 

Alonzo's mother was silent. 

" Come, mother," said the boy, hoping that he had made 
some impression, "do let me go. Do say yes, — just this 
once." 

After a moment's pause, she replied, 

" Some persons do indeed suppose that the Sabbath ends 
at sunset, but we think it continues till midnight, and we 
can not shift and change the hours to suit our pleasures. 
Now, with all your resolutions about walking still, you know 
very well that such an expedition, with such companions, 
will not be keeping holy the Sabbath day. You come to me, 
therefore, with a proposal that I will allow you to disobey, 
directly and openly, one of the plainest of God's commands. 
It is ifnpossible that I should consent." 

While his mother was saying these words, emotions of 
anger and indignation began to rise and swell in Alonzo's 
bosom, until, at length, foreseeing how the sentence would 
end, he began to walk off toward the door, and almost 
before the last words were uttered, he was gone. He shut 
the door violently, muttering to himself, " It is always just so." 

In a state of wretchedness and sin, which my readers, if 



22 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

The seat in the orchard. Conflicting emotions. 

they have ever acted as Alonzo did, can easily conceive of, 
he walked out of the house, and sank down upon a bench 
which he had made in the little orchard. Here he gave 
full flow for a few minutes to the torrent of boiling passion 
which had so suddenly burst out of his heart. In a short 
time, however, the excitement of his feelings subsided a 
little, and there came suddenly a sort of flash of moral light, 
which seemed to reveal to him for an instant the true charac- 
ter of the transaction. 

Something within him seemed to say, " What an unrea- 
sonable, ungrateful, wicked boy you are, Alonzo. Here is 
your mother — as kind a mother as ever lived. You owe 
her your very being. She has taken care of you for years, 
without any return, and has done every thing to make you 
happy ; and now because she can not consent to let you do 
what is most clearly wrong, your heart is full of anger, 
malice and revenge. What a heart ! Love, duty, — all are 
forgotten, and every feeling of gratitude for long years of 
kindness is obliterated, by one single interference with your 
wicked desires." 

This reflection, which it will require some time to read, 
occupied but an instant in passing through Alonzo's mind. 
It flashed upon him for a moment, and was gone, — and the 
dark, heavy clouds of anger and ill-will, rolled again over his 
soul. He sat upon the bench in moody silence. 

At length, he began again to see that he was very wrong ; 
such feelings toward his mother were, he knew, unreason- 
able and sinful, and he determined that he would not indulge 
them. So he arose, and walked through a small gate, into 
the yard, where a large pile of long logs were lying, one of 
which had been rolled down and partly cut off, in the process 
of preparing fuel from it for the fire. Alonzo took up the axe 
and went to work. But he soon learned that it was one 1hing 
to see that his feelings were wrong, and another thing to feel 



WORKS AND FAITH. 23 

Healing the hurt 3lightly. Alonzo's opinion of himself. 

right. His mind was in a sort of chaos. Floating visions of 
the party ascending the hill, — vexation at his disappoint- 
ment, — uneasiness at the recollection of his unkind treatment 
of his mother, all mingled together in his soul. "I wish I 
could feel right toward mother about this," said he to him- 
self; but somehow or other, there seemed gathering over his 
heart a kind of casing of dogged sullenness, which he could 
not break or dispel. At least he thought he could not ; so 
he concluded that it would be best for the present to forget 
the whole affair. He laid down the axe, therefore, and be- 
gan to pick up some chips and sticks to carry in for kindling 
the morning fire ; and he secretly determined that when he 
went in and met his mother again, he would not evince any 
more of his impatience and anger, but would act "just as if 
nothing had happened." 

Just as if nothing had happened ! What, after evincing 
toward his mother so much disrespect, ingratitude, and dis- 
obedience, act as if nothing had happened ! The proper 
thought to have arisen to his mind would have been, " I will 
go to my mother, and confess my fault, and humbly beg her 
forgiveness for my undutiful and ungrateful behavior.' 

But Alonzo did not make any such reflection. His heart, 
clinging to his sin, loved to be deceived by it. It seemed 
to him impossible to feel the relenting of true, heartfelt 
penitence, and that love and gratitude which he knew his 
mother deserved, — and especially that cheerful acquiescence 
in her decision, which he knew he ought to feel. So he con- 
cluded to forget all about it, — and the poisoned fountain 
which had so suddenly burst forth in his heart, was covered 
up again, and smoothed over, ready to boil out anew, upon 
any new occasion. 

This and a few other similar occurrences, led Alonzo 
sometimes to think that there might be deeper sources of 
moral difficulty in his heart, than he had been accustomed 



24 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

An incident. The walk through the woods. 

to imagine ; but he did not think much about it, and his 
life passed on without much thought or care in respect to his 
character or prospects as a moral being. He had, however, 
a sort of standing suspicion that there was something wrong, 
— quite wrong, but he did not stop to examine the case. 
The little uneasiness which this suspicion caused, was 
soothed and quieted in some measure, by a sort of prevail- 
ing idea, that after all, there was a great deal that was 
very excellent in his conduct and character. He was gene- 
rally considered a pretty good boy. He knew this, very 
well ; and one of the grossest of the forms of deceitfulness 
which the heart assumes, is, to believe that we deserve all 
that others give us credit for, even where the good qualities 
in question are merely the most superficial and shallow pre- 
tense. 

One incident occurred about this time, which almost 
opened Alonzo's eyes to the true character of some of his 
virtues. During the winter months he went to school, and 
the good qualities which he fancied that he exhibited there, 
were among those on which he most prided himself. One 
afternoon, as he was walking home, with a green satchel full 
of books slung over his shoulder, he stopped a few minutes 
at the brook which crossed the road, and looked down over 
the bridge upon the smooth dark-colored ice which covered 
the deep water. It looked so clear and beautiful, that he 
went down and cautiously stepped upon it. It was so trans- 
parent that it seemed impossible that it could be strong. He 
sat down on a stone which projected out of the water, and 
while he was there the teacher came along, and stopping on 
the bridge, began to talk with him. Alonzo and the teacher 
were on very good terms, and after talking together a few 
minutes at the brook, they both walked along together. 

Their way was a cross-path through the woods, which led 



WORKS AND FAITH. 25 

Conversation. The books in the satchel. 

by a shorter course than the main road, to the part of the 
town where they were both going. 

" Alonzo," said the teacher, as they were stepping over a 
low place in the log fence where their path diverged from 
the road ; — " I am glad to see you carrying your books 
home." 

" I like to study my lessons at home in the evenings," 
said Alonzo, with a feeling of secret satisfaction. 

" Well, Alonzo, what should you say if I should tell you 
that I could guess exactly what books you have got in your 
satchel ?" 

" I don't know," said Alonzo, — " perhaps you saw me put 
them in." 

" No, I did not." 

" Well, you can tell by the shape of the books ; you can 
see the shape and size of them by looking at the satchel." 

" No," said the teacher, " I can see that you have got 
either your writing-book or your Atlas, but I can not tell 
which by the appearance of the satchel. I see also, that 
there is by the side of it, one middle-sized book besides ; but 
its size does not determine whether it is your Arithmetic or 
your Grammar or your Geography." 

" Well, what do you think the books are ?" 

" I think they are your writing-book, and your spelling- 
book." 

There was in Alonzo's countenance an appearance of sur- 
prise and curiosity. He said that the teacher was right, and 
asked him how he knew. 

" I know by your character." 

" By my character !" said Alonzo. " What do you mean 
by that?" 

" I will tell you ; but I think it will give you pain rather 
than pleasure. You are one of the best boys in my school, 
— you give me very little trouble, and are generally diligent 
B 



26 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Motives. Aii exposure. The toachert queries. 

in your duties ; and obedient and faithful. Now, have you 
ever thought what your motives are for this ?" 

" No, sir, I have never thought about it very particu- 
larly," replied Alonzo. "I wish to improve my time, and 
learn as much as I can, so as to be useful when I am a 
man." 

Alonzo thought that that ought to be his motive, and so 
he fancied that it was. He did not mean to tell a false- 
hood. He did not say it because he wished to deceive his 
teacher, but because his heart had deceived him. It is so 
with us all. 

" You think so, I have no doubt. But now I wish to ask 
you one question. "What two studies do you think you are- 
most perfect in ?" 

Alonzo did not like to answer, though he knew that he 
prided himself much on his handsome writing, and on his 
being almost always at the head of his class in spelling. At 
length he said, with a modest air, that he thought he " took 
as much interest in his writing and in his spelling lessons as 
in any thing." 

" Are there any studies that you are less advanced in than 
in these ?" 

" Yes, sir." 

" Well," said the teacher, " and now I have one other 
question. How happens it that the writing-book and the 
spelling-book, which represent the two studies in which you 
have made the greatest proficiency, and in which you, of 
course, least need any extra efforts, are the very ones which 
you are bringing home to work upon in the evenings ?" 

Alonzo did not answer immediately. In fact, he had no 
answer at hand. He thought, however, that if he was in- 
clined to study out of school hours, he had a right to take any 
books home that he pleased. But he did not say so. 

"And I should like to ask you one more question," said 



WORKS AND FAITH. 27 



Alonzo's perplexity. His reflections. 

the teacher. " In what study do you think you are most de- 
ficient ?" 

" I suppose it is my Arithmetic," said Alonzo : recollect- 
ing how he disliked, and avoided as much as possible, every 
thing connected with calculation. 

" And do you ever carry home your Arithmetic to study 
in the evening ?" 

Alonzo shook his head. He knew that he did not. 

" Well. Now you are well aware that there is no knowl- 
edge obtained at school more important to a man than a 
knowledge of figures. How does it happen, then, if your 
motive is to fit yourself for usefulness and happiness when 
a man, that the very study in which you are most deficient, 
is the very one in which you never make any voluntary 
effort ?" 

Here was a little pause, during which Alonzo looked seri- 
ous. He felt very unhappy. It seemed to him that his 
teacher was unkind. When he was bringing his books home 
to study his lesson for the next day on purpose to please the 
teacher, — to be blamed just because he had not happened to 
bring his arithmetic instead of his spelling-book, was very 
hard. Tears came to his eyes, but he strove to suppress 
them, and said nothing. 

"I know, Alonzo," continued the teacher, "that these 
questions of mine will trouble you. But I have not asked 
them for the sake of troubling you, but for the purpose of 
letting you see into your heart and learn a lesson of its de- 
ceitfulness. I want you to think of this to-night when you 
are alone, and perhaps I will some day talk with you again." 

So saying, they came out into the road again, near the 
teacher's residence. They bade one another good-bye, and 
Alonzo walked on alone. 

"He means," thought he, "that if I honestly desired to 
improve, I should take most interest in the studies in which 



28 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Alonzo's virtues not genuine. Summary of Alonzo's character. 

I am deficient." And as this thought floated through his 
mind, it brought after it a dim momentary vision of the pride 
and vanity and love of praise which he suddenly saw revealed 
as the secret spring of all those excellences at school, on 
which he had so prided himself. But to see all those fancied 
virtues of industry, and love of learning, and desire to he con 
scientious and faithful, wither at once, under the magic in- 
fluence of two such simple questions, and turn into vanity 
and self-conceit, afforded him no pleasant subject of reflec- 
tion. He was glad, therefore, to see a load of wood coming 
into his father's yard as he approached it, and he hastened 
to " help them unload." He thus got rid of the disagreeable 
subject, without actually deciding whether the teacher was 
right or wrong. 

The affair, however, shook and weakened very much his 
faith in the good traits of his character. He did not come to 
the distinct conclusion that they were all hollow and super- 
ficial, but he had a sort of vague fear that they might prove 
so, — an undefined notion that they would not bear examina- 
tion. This was another source of uneasiness laid up in his 
heart, — a part of the burden of sin which he bore without 
thinking much of it, though it fretted and troubled him. 

Thus Alonzo lived. From twelve he passed on to fifteen, 
and from fifteen to twenty. He became a strong, athletic 
young man, known and esteemed for his industry, frugality, 
and steadiness of character. The time drew near which was 
to terminate his minority, and at this age, his moral condition 
might be summed up thus : 

1. The external excellences of his character arose from the 
influence of his excellent education. This would have been 
no disparagement to them, if they had been of the right kind ; 
■ — but they were not of the right kind. They consisted al- 
most entirely of acts of outward propriety, resulting from the 
restraints imposed by the opinion of those around him, — from 



WORKS AND FAITH. 29 

His occupations and pleasures. 

the influence of conscience, which, in respect to some sins, 
had been so encouraged and cultivated by his parents, that it 
was very uncomfortable for him to act directly counter to her 
voice, in respect to those sins, — and from the power of habit. 
His industry, for instance, was based upon the last ; his re- 
gard for the Sabbath upon the second, and his temperance 
and steadiness mainly upon the other. 

2. He made no regular, systematic effort to improve his 
character. In fact, he felt little interest in any plan of this 
kind. He was much interested in the various plans of cul- 
tivation and improvement on his father's farm ; but his heart 
was chiefly set upon the amusements with which the young 
people of the neighborhood regaled themselves, in hours when 
work was done ; — the sleigh-ride, — the singing-school, — the 
fishing party, — the husking. In the evening, usually, he was 
occupied with some one of these enjoyments, and the next day, 
at his work, he was planning another ; and thus life glided 
on. I do not mean that he was entirely indifferent about 
his character and prospects as a moral being ; he did some- 
times feel a little uneasiness about them. Such discoveries 
as I have already described gave him a momentary glimpse 
occasionally of the secrets of his heart, and he had a sort of 
abiding impression that there was something there which 
would not bear examination. It was however an unpleasant 
subject, and he thought that for the present he would let it 
rest. As to his character, it was, he knew, superficially fair. 
He prided himself not a little upon the appearance which it 
presented toward others, and he did not see how he could 
improve it much, without making thorough changes in the 
motives and feelings of his heart. This he could not but 
strongly shrink from ; so he passed quietly along and thought 
about other things. 

3. There was no connection between his soul and God. I 
mean no spiritual connection, — no communion, — no inter- 



30 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Character of his p-ayers. The evening meeting. Setting off. 

change of thought or of feeling. He was taught to repeat a 
prayer morning and evening, and this practice he continued, 
— that is, he considered it one of his duties and meant, gen- 
erally, to perform it. As he grew up from boyhood however 
he often neglected it in the morning, until at length he omit- 
ted it then altogether ; and he gradually found an increasing 
reluctance to perform it at night. He often omitted it, — not 
intentionally, exactly ; — he forgot it ; or he was very tired 
and went immediately to sleep. These omissions, however, 
which, by the way, were far more frequent than he imagined, 
did not trouble him as much as it might have been expected 
that they would, for he began to think that the practice was 
intended for children, and that he was getting to be too old 
to make it necessary that he should attend to it. When he 
did attend to the duty, it was only a form. There was no 
communion or connection between him and God. So far as 
the feelings of his heart were concerned, he lived in inde- 
pendence of his Maker. 

Such was Alonzo's condition, during the whiter before 
he was to be twenty-one. One evening during that winter, 
" a meeting" was appointed in the school-house. A stranger 
was to preach. On such occasions the school-house was 
always filled. The congregation came from the farmers' 
families for several miles around ; curiosity respecting the 
stranger, the pleasure of a winter evening's expedition, a sort 
of intellectual interest in the services, the exhilarating and 
animating scene which the room presented, — the light from 
the great blazing wood fire beaming upon a hundred bright 
and cheerful countenances, — and in some cases at least, an 
honest desire to know and do duty, constituted the motives 
which drew the assembly together. At six o'clock Alonzo 
harnessed a strong, fleet, well-fed horse into a gayly painted 
sleigh, and handing his father and mother into the back seat, 
mounted, himself, upon a higher one in front, and away 



WORKS AND FAITU. 



31 



Nine o'clock. 



The Holy Spirit. 



they went jingling down the valley. They were lost to sight 
by the turnings of the road among the trees, and the sleigh- 
bells, sounding fainter and fainter, at length died away upon 
the ear. 

A little before nine, 
Alonzo might have "^^^asj^ftr i* ~" s -- 

been seen returning ~-„/-.'^ ' l!lfe& 

slowly up the valley °^ST^t|^l -. * V 

and it shone through v jf| > 

;.. :'.:■■■ !■■•.::!■■■■: ■:.,■ - - 

beautiful white light - 

upon the snowy wreaths ■ ..._ \V V. . 

which hung upon them. fw <' ; Iff '/. 

The horse walked along ~ ; *- .,_. ''''"""'' - - ^ - 

slowly, and Alonzo was 

making crosses with his 

whip-lash upon the 

smooth surface of the 

snow which bordered alonzo. 

the road. He was lost 

in thought. The subject of the sermon which he had heard, 

was, the importance of preparation for another world ; and 

it happened, from some cause or other, that Alonzo's mind 

was in such a calm, contemplative state that evening, that 

the discourse made a strong impression. It was not an 

impression made by any extraordinary eloquence. The 

preacher, in a very quiet, unostentatious, simple manner, 

presented truths which Alonzo had heard a thousand times 

before, though heretofore they had, as it were, stopped at the 

ear. This night they seemed to penetrate to his heart. 

He came out of the meeting thoughtful. He rode home 

silently. There seemed to be a new view opened before 

his mind. The future world appeared a reality to him ; it 




32 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Morning cloud and early dew. Wandering thoughts. 

looked near ; and he wondered why he was not making a 
preparation for it. He rode home thinking of these thingr 
silently. His father and mother rode in silence too, each 
unconscious of the thoughts of the other, hut hoth thinking 
of their son. An unwonted influence was moving upon the 
hearts of all. 

These serious thoughts passed away the next day, hut 
they left behind them a more distinct impression than Alonzo 
had been accustomed to feel, that he had a great work to do 
before he left the world, and that it was a work which he 
had not yet begun. 

He was careful to repeat the prayer of his childhood that 
night. He did it too with great seriousness, — making an 
effort to keep the meaning in his mind, while he was repeat- 
ing the words. It is true that there is a great, and one 
would suppose, a sufficiently obvious distinction between 
having the meaning of a prayer in the mind, and having 
the feelings and desires, which it expresses in the heart. 
But Alonzo did not perceive this distinction. He thought 
very distinctly of the meaning of the several successive peti- 
tions and confessions, and that was all ; but it was enough 
to satisfy a deceiving and deceitful heart, and Alonzo dis- 
missed his cares on the subject of his preparation for death, 
as he went to sleep, feeling that he had made a good be- 
ginning. 

Alonzo's attention was occupied early the next morning, 
by an excursion into the forest for a load of wood with his 
father, and he entirely forgot his new religious resolutions, 
until the evening. This discouraged him a little. He, 
however, again offered his prayer, with an effort to keep its 
meaning in his mind, though that effort was less successful 
than on the evening before. His thoughts would slip away, 
as it were, from his control, and while he was saying, " My 
Bins have been numerous and aggravated," or "lead me not 



WORKS AND FAITH. 33 

Slow progress. 



into temptation," lie would find that his mind was dwelling 
upon the past scenes of the day ; it would be off in the forest 
where he had been at work, or surveying the smooth slopes 
of hay in the barn loft, or dwelling with pleasure upon the 
fat sleek sides of Cherry, feeding in the stall. 

Alonzo was so dissatisfied with his prayer, that he began 
again before he got through, though with not much better 
success than before. He was vexed with himself that he 
could not confine his attention more easily. He could not 
understand the reason of it. The obvious explanation, — a 
heart alienated from God, and eluding by its own sponta- 
neous tendencies, every effort to bring it to him, — he did not 
see. Willingly deceived, he was spiritually blind. 

However, he succeeded so well, that he thought his second 
prayer would do, and gradually fell asleep. 

Weeks passed on, and Alonzo made, in the manner above 
described, feeble and intermitted efforts to be a religious man. 
He said nothing of his feelings to any one. In fact, he would 
not, for the world, have had any body know that he had any 
intention of serving God. Whether it was because he was 
ashamed to be seen in the service of such a Master, or be- 
cause he thought that his new feelings were of so high a 
degree of moral excellence, that modesty required that he 
should conceal them, we do not say. He was, at any rate, 
very careful to conceal them. 

He made, however, little progress. Weeks and months 
passed away, and it seemed to him that he remained sub- 
stantially in the same place. The truth was, there was a 
current carrying him down, which he did not perceive, but 
whose effects at distant intervals were very evident. He 
moved like the little water skipper, which he had often 
watched, on his father's brook, — making now and then a 
convulsive and momentary effort to ascend, but borne con- 
tiually backward by a current steady and unceasing in its 



34 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 



Alonzo ike the water skipper. Difficulties. 

flow, — so that notwithstanding its leaps, it drifts insensibly 
down toward the gulf behind it. 

Alonzo was like the skipper, too, in other respects. He 
saw distinctly his own repeated efforts ; but the slow, gentle, 
hut continual operation of the current, was unperceived. 
His face was turned up the stream, too, where all was 
smooth and sunny and beautiful. He did not see the dark 
gulf that yawned behind. 

In a word, Alonzo made but little progress. The work 
was all up hill. He perceived that on the whole he was 
not advancing, and yet he could scarcely tell why. There 
were several difficulties, the operation of which he felt, but 
there was something mysterious and unaccountable about 
them. 

First, he was continually forgetting all his good intentions. 
He would, for example, reflect sometimes on the Sabbath, 
upon his duties and obligations, and would resolve to be 
watchful . all the coming week to guard against sin, and to 
keep his heart right. But he found it very hard to control 
the conduct of one day by the resolutions of the preceding. 
Saturday night would come, and he would wake up, as it 
were, from his dream of business and pleasure, and find that 
his spiritual work had been entirely neglected and forgotten 
during the week. Half ashamed, and half vexed with him- 
self, he would renew good resolutions, to neglect and forget 
them again as before. What could he do ? There was no 
want of good intention in Ms hours of solitude, but how to 
give these intentions an arm long enough to reach through 
the week ; — how to make the resolutions of retirement bind- 
ing upon the conduct during the business and bustle of life, 
was a sore perplexity to him. If he did not think of his 
resolutions at the right time, of course he could not keep 
them, and he could contrive no way to secure thinking of 
them at the right time. There was another difficulty which 



WORKS AJS T D FAITH. 35 

Hoping for a more convenient season. 



very much perplexed and troubled Alonzo in his attempts to 
reform himself. Sometimes it seemed impossible for him to 
control his wrong feelings. When he became vexed and 
irritated, as he sometimes did, about his work, or when out 
of humor on account of some restraint which his mother laid 
upon him, he was conscious that his feelings were wrong, 
and he would struggle against them, as he said, with all his 
strength, but he could not conquer them. He thought he 
succeeded partially ; but he was deceived. It was even 
worse than he supposed. For all the effect of his struggling 
was only to restrain the outivard manifestation of his feel- 
ings, while they burned on, in his heart, the same. They 
were too strong for him, he perceived ; and then, in his de- 
spondency, he would get lost in the metaphysical difficulties 
of the question how far he could be blamed for what it 
seemed to him he could not help. 

Thus, in ordinary temptations, Alonzo never could think 
of his resolutions, and in extraordinary ones, he never could 
keep them, and he knew not what to do. And yet he was 
not very solicitous or anxious about it. There was indeed a 
vague idea afloat in his mind that there was a great work to 
be done, which was involved in some peculiar difficulties, — 
a work which he was yet only partially performing. He de- 
termined to take hold of it soon, in earnest. In the winter, 
it was so cold that he could not conveniently spend as much 
time alone as he wished. He thought that when the warm 
spring evenings should come, he could enjoy more solitude, 
and that the spring, therefore, would be a more convenient 
season. When the spring came, the farm became a very 
busy scene, and he was pressed with work ; he looked for 
ward, then, for a time of a little greater leisure. But when 
planting was done, there was haying, and after haying, har- 
vesting. Then Alonzo thought that in a few months he 
should be of age, and consequently free, and that, when that 



36 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Alonzo's new home. Preparation*. 

time should come, lie would make such arrangements as to 
have the more perfect command of his time. Thus he 
passed on, thinking that he was watching for an opportunity 
to do his duty. But he was deceived. The secret was an 
innate dislike and repugnance to the work of doing it. There 
was a strange inconsistency in his ideas. When he tried to 
purify and reform his heart, he found, or thought he found, 
that he could not do it. And yet he had an impression, 
vague and undefined, and yet fixed and confided in, that he 
could take it up easily at any time, and therefore it was of 
the less consequence that he waited for a little more conveni- 
ent season. 

The postponement of a thorough attention to the work did 
not give him any particular uneasiness, for he was conscious 
that though he was not doing his duty quite earnestly 
enough, he still was not entirely neglecting it. 

Alonzo's father had purchased for him a small farm, a 
mile or two from his own, and Alonzo was now, for some 
months, much interested in his preparations for taking pos- 
session of it when he should he twenty-one ; and then for 
many months afterward, his whole soul was engrossed in his 
plans and labors for repairing the premises, getting his stock 
in good order, and putting the first seed of his own into the 
ground. During these months, he remained still a member 
of his father's family, his own little farm-house being empty 
and desolate. Occasionally, however, a piece of furniture 
was brought there, and he would carry it in and set it in its 
place, and then survey it again and again with a look of 
satisfaction. First came a stained, birch bureau, then a 
half-dozen chairs, then a bedstead. A few simple instru- 
ments for the kitchen followed, and a load of wood was piled 
up in the yard, — in short the house began to look as if it was 
really intended to be occupied. 



WORKS AND FAITH. 



37 



Taking possession. 



A hard duty. 



Conscience again. 



THE BRIDE. 



At length, one even- 
ing, lights were seen 
by the distant neigh- 
bors in both the rooms, 
— for there were but 
two. Busy prepara- 
tions were going for- 
ward, and at eight 
o'clock, Alonzo drove 
up to the door in his 
own sleigh, and hand- 
ed out, first his sister, 
and then the bride, 
whom he had brought 
to share with him the 
responsibilities of his 
new home. 

Alonzo led his horse away to the barn, took off the har- 
ness and fastened him to his crib, previously filled to the top 
with hay. While doing this, he could not help thinking of 
his obligations to God for the circumstances of prosperity, and 
the prospects of happiness, under which his life had been com- 
menced. He thought he ought to be grateful. But this, as 
he afterward found, was a different thing from actually be- 
ing grateful. At any rate, he could not help thinking of his 
obligations, and of the duty of gratitude, and this reminded 
him x the question whether he should commence, that. even- 
ing, family prayer. 

" It is your duty to do it," said Conscience. 

" You will not do it properly. You will be embarrassed 
and perplexed: you can not begin to-night," said Distrust. 

"Still," said Conscience again, "it is your dttty to do 
it." 

" You had better wait a day or two till you get settled, — 



38 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

No gain in del ay. The inquiry meeting. 

it will be much easier, and more pleasant then," said a lying 
spirit of evasion and delay. 

" It is your duty to do it to-?iight," murmured Conscience 
again. , 

Distracted by the discordant thoughts within him, Alonzo 
cut short their clamor, by saying to himself that he could not 
begin that night, and hurried in ; and the murmurs of con- 
science grew feebler, and feebler, and at length died com- 
pletely away. 

Alonzo was not to blame for his diffidence, — he was not 
to blame for shrinking from embarrassment, or for consider- 
ing the duty before him a real trial, — but if he had actually 
been grateful to God for his goodness, instead of merely 
thinking that he ought to be so, he would have pressed for- 
ward with alacrity to the fulfillment of this duty toward him, 
even if it had been ten times as painful to perform. 

Alonzo found it more and more difficult to begin the duty, 
the longer he postponed it. A month passed away,, and it 
continued to be neglected. It was his design to read the 
Bible every day, but it seemed rather awkward to sit down 
before his wife, and read it silently and alone, and he gradu- 
ally neglected that. At night, as he went to bed, he usually 
offered a sort of brief ejaculation, which was, in fact, though 
he did not perceive it, a sort of compromise with Conscience, 
to induce her to let him rest in peace. He did not, how- 
ever, feel happy hi this mode of life. Uneasiness and anxiety 
rankled in his heart more and more, and one evening, aftei 
hearing a plain and heartfelt sermon from his minister in the 
school-house near his farm, he heard him, with pleasure, ap- 
point, what in New England is called " an inquiry meet- 
ing," the next evening, at his house. The design of such a 
meeting is, to afford an opportunity for more plain, and direct, 
and familiar religious instruction to those who feel a persona] 



WORKS AND FAITH. 39 

The pastor's remarks. 



interest in it, than the formal discourse, offered to a promis- 
cuous assembly, can well contain. 

Alonzo and his wife both resolved to go, — and early in the 
evening they took their seats with twenty others around their 
pastor's fireside. Such a meeting is one of great interest and 
solemnity. It is understood that all present feel a direct per- 
sonal interest in respect to their own salvation, and they 
come together with a stillness and solemnity, which scarcely 
any other assembly exhibits. 

The pastor sat by the side of the fire. First he read a 
hymn. It was not sung. Then he offered a short and simple 
prayer. He then addressed the little assembly much as 
follows : 

" The most important question which you can ask respect 
ing yourselves, is, ' Am I the friend or the enemy of my Ma- 
ker V Now, probably, there is not one here, who really 
feels that he is his Maker's enemy, and yet it is very possible 
that there is not one who is not so. 

" God justly requires us all to love him, — that is, to feel 
a personal affection for him, and to act under the influence 
of it. They who do not, he considers as not belonging to 
his spiritual family. They are his enemies. Not that they 
are employed directly and intentionally in opposing him ; — 
they make perhaps no demonstrations of actual hostility : but 
in heart, they dislike him. To determine, therefore, whether 
we are the friends or the enemies of God, we must ascertain 
whether our secret hearts are in a state of love, or of dislike 
toward him. 

" Methinks, now, I hear you say to yourselves, while I 
make these remarks, ' I am sure that I love God in some de- 
gree, though I know I do not love him as much as I ought. 
I pray to him, I try in some things to do my duty, I am, in 
gome degree at least, grateful for his goodness, and I can not 



40 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Common mistakes made. 

perceive in myself any evidence of a feeling of dislike or hos- 
tility.' " 

The pastor was right, at least in one instance, for these 
were exactly the thoughts which were passing through 
Alonzo's mind. 

" Now, it is a difficult thing to tell," continued he, " what 
the state of our hearts is, — or rather it is a very easy and a 
very common thing to he deceived ahout it. I will tell you 
how. 

"1. By mistaking approbation for love. We can not 
help approving God's character. We can not deny the ex- 
cellence of justice, mercy, and holiness, any more than we 
can the directness of a straight line which we look upon. 
Approhation is the decision of the intellect or of the moral 
sense, and is entirely independent of the feelings of the heart. 
I once asked a young man whether he thought he loved 
God. ' yes",' said he ' certainly. I think our Maker is 
worthy of all our praise and gratitude.' He was hlind to 
the distinction, you see, completely. He thought his Maker 
ivas worthy. Of course ; — he could not help thinking that. 
The question is not, whether God is worthy of love and grati- 
tude, hut whether, in our hearts, we really render these feel- 
ings. Now it is very possible that if you look honestly into 
your hearts you will find that all your supposed love for God 
is only a cold, intellectual admission of the excellence of his 
character. This may exist without any personal feelings of 
affection toward him. 

" 2. The second delusion is similar. We pray, and while 
doing so we make effort to confine our attention to our pray- 
ers, — or, as we term it, to think what we are saying. This 
we mistake for really feeling the desires which we express. 
I doubt not that many of you are in the habit of prayer, and 



WORKS AND FAITH. 41 

Difference between understanding and feeling. Spurious gratitude. 

that you often strive to confine your mind to what you are 
saying. Now you may do all this, without having in the 
heart any real desires for the forgiveness and the holiness 
and the other blessings that you ask for. In fact, the very 
effort which you make to confine your mind, proves, or rather 
indicates very strongly, that the heart is somewhere else ; for 
the mind goes easily where the heart is, and stays there, 
without any great effort to confine it. 

"3. There is another delusion similar to the foregoing. 
Thanking God without gratitude. We see that he is our 
benefactor, and that he deserves our gratitude. We say this, 
and feel satisfied with it, — never reflecting that this is a very 
different thing from actually feeling gratitude. 

" For instance, we may rise in the morning, and look out 
upon the pleasant landscape before us, in the midst of which 
we are to work during the day, and think of our pleasant 
homes, our friends, and all our comforts and means of happi- 
ness, which we are now to enjoy for another day, — the 
thought of all these things gives us pleasure. We feel a 
kind of complacency in them which, connected with our 
knowing that they come from God, we mistake for gratitude. 
We thus often think we are grateful, when the only feeling 
is a pleasant recognition of the good enjoyed. The differ- 
ence is shown in this, that this latter feeling has no effect 
upon the conduct, whereas real gratitude will lead us to take 
pleasure in doing our benefactor's will. Even a painful duty 
will become a pleasant one, for we always love to make a 
sacrifice for one who has been kind to us, if we are really 
grateful to him." 

Alonzo here recollected the evening when he took posses- 
sion of his new home, thinking that he was grateful to God 
for it, while yet " he could not'" do that evening what he 
knew was God's will 



42 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Indications of enmity. Alonzo's self-application. 

" Iii a word," continued the pastor, " we mistake the con- 
victions of the understanding, and of the moral sense, for the 
movements of the heart ; whereas, the former may be all 
right, and the latter all wrong. 

" I will tell you now some of the indications that a person 
really in heart dislikes God, even if his understanding is right 
in respect to his character and his favors. 

"1. When his feelings do not go forth spontaneously and 
pleasantly toward him. Payson once said to his child, ' Have 
you not sometimes felt, when thinking of some person whom 
you loved, and who was away from you, as if your heart 
went out to that person, and then it seemed as if the distance 
between you was lessened, though it was not in reality ? On 
the other hand, when you think of a person whom you do not 
like, your heart draws back, as it were, and shrinks coldly 
from him. Now just tell me in which of these ways it is 
affected when you think of God.' " 

Alonzo recollected how readily, when he was at work on 
the hill side, or in the distant forest, his thoughts and affec- 
tions would roam away to his wife and his home, and hover 
there. He saw too clearly, also, that his heart never thus 
sought God. 

" 2 Another evidence of our disliking God is, when we 
escape from his presence as soon as we can. When we cut 
short our prayers, and our thoughts come back with a spring 
to our business or our pleasures, as if we had kept them on 
God for a few minutes by force ; — when the Sabbath is a 
weariness, and secret communion with him a burden." 

Alonzo felt that the pastor was describing his feelings ex- 
actly. 

" 3. Also when we hold back a little from cordial acquies- 



WORKS AND FAITH. 43 

The closing prayer. Its effects upon Alonzo. 

cence in God's justice, and in his fearful decision in punish 
ing sin, both as exhibited in his daily dealings of mankind, 
and in the Bible. We shrink from some things in his ad- 
ministration, just as one condemned malefactor is shocked at 
what he calls the cruelty of the government in executing an- 
other. 

" Now do you, when examined by these tests, love God, 
or dislike him ?" 

It was plain from the appearance of the assembly, that 
they felt condemned. The pastor perceived that they pleaded 
guilty. He closed his remarks by these words, 

" You ought to love God. He commands you to do it. 
You ought to have loved him all your lives ; — you ought to 
love him now. He will forgive all the past for his Son's 
sake, if you will now simply turn your hearts to him. Ought 
you not to do it ?" 

" I will do it," thought Alonzo, as they kneeled once more, 
to offer their parting prayer. The pastor uttered expressions 
of penitence, gratitude, affection, but Alonzo perceived that 
notwithstanding his determination, his heart did not follow. 
The more he tried to force himself to love God, the more 
clearly he perceived the distinctions which the pastor had 
been drawing, and the more painfully evident it was to him 
that he had no heart to love God. He rose from his knees 
with a thought, — half impatience and half despair, — " I do 
not love him, and I can not love him. What shall I do ?" 

For many weeks, Alonzo was much discouraged and 
distressed. He saw more and more clearly, that he did 
not love God, and that he never had loved him. Con- 
science upbraided him, and he had little peace. Yet he 
would not come and yield his heart to his Maker. He 



44 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Alonzo in deeper difficulty than ever. 



thought he wished to do it, — as if it were possible for a 
person to wish to love, without loving. He struggled, — 
but struggling did no good. What God commands us to 
do, is to love him, not to struggle against our hatred of 
him. He set a double watch over his conduct ; he was 
more regular in his prayers, more attentive to the Scriptures, 
and to every means of instruction. But all seemed to do no 
good. His heart was still alienated from God, and it seemed 
to him to become alienated more and more. 

There were three great difficulties which he experienced, 
and which perplexed and troubled him exceedingly. 

First, it really seemed to him that he could not change his 
heart ; he could not force himself to love God and repent of 
sin. He also could not help the wrong and wicked feelings 
which often raged within him, on occasions of peculiar 
temptation. I am aware that the theological philosophers 
disagree on this subject, but it really seemed to Alonzo, 
that his wicked heart was too strong for him. This thought, 
however, did not make him easy. Conscience upbraided 
him the more, for being in such a state of heart toward God. 

Secondly, the more he thought of the subject, and the more 
he tried to make himself fit for heaven, the more hollow and 
superficial and hypocritical he found all his supposed good- 
ness to be. The law of God claiming his heart, had come 
home to his apprehension, and brought a new standard before 
him. His supposed gratitude and penitence, his prayers, and 
all the virtues on which he had prided himself, resolved them- 
selves into elements of corruption and sin, under the power- 
ful analysis of the Spirit. 

Thirdly, in trying to correct his sinful habits, his progress 
in discovering his sins went on far in advance of his success 
in purifying himself from them, so that in his attempts to 
reform his heart, he was continually alarmed at new and 
unexpected exposures. In fact the law of God had come 



WORKS AND FAITH. 45 

" Sin revived." Conviction not conversion. Alonzo's excuses and difficulties. 

home to him, and as oil upon the fresh surface of a variegated 
wood brings out the dark stains which had before been 
invisible, it developed corruptions and sins in his heart, 
which he had never supposed to be slumbering there. He 
was alive without the law once, but when the command- 
ment came, sin revived and he died : — his heart sunk within 
him, to see his sad spiritual condition. In a word, Alonzo 
opened his eyes to the fact that the excellences of character 
which circumstances had produced in him were external, 
and superficial, and that he was in heart, and that he always 
had been, the enemy of God, and the miserable, helpless slave 
of sin. 

Though he was thus, in some degree, aware of the con- 
dition of his heart, yet that condition was not altered. The 
trouble with him was, that he still disliked God, and loved 
the world and sin, but conscience pressed him with the guilt 
of it, and he feared a judgment to come. Instead, however, 
of throwing himself fully upon God and giving him his heart, 
he still kept away, alienated and miserable. He had certain 
excuses with which he unconsciously deceived himself, and 
was gradually lulling his conscience to rest, when one day he 
had a private interview with his pastor, in which he pre- 
sented his excuses, and they were answered. These excuses, 
and the replies made by the pastor to them, were, in sub- 
stance, somewhat as follows. 

" I do feel, sir, that I am a most miserable sinner, but I 
do not know what to do. I have been now seeking religion 
for many years, and the more I seek it, the farther I seem to 
be from it." 

" What more, then, can you do ?" 

" I am sure I do not know." 

" Then why does not your heart rest quietly in the con- 
sciousness of having been faithful to the utmost in duty ? 
God requires no more." 



40 



THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 



Alonzo hung his head. He perceived the absurdity of hia 
excuse. 

" No," said the pastor. " You show by that remark, how 
easily and completely the heart deceives itself. Upbraided 
as you are by conscience, for guilt in disliking and disobeying 
God, — reproached so severely and continually too, that you 
can not rest, you yet say to me that which implies that you 
have done and are doing all which God requires." 

Alonzo sighed ; it was too true. 

"I know it," said he; "it is just so. I continually find 
some new proof of the corruption and deceitfulness of my 
heart. I want to change it, but it seems to me that I can 
not." 

" You speak as if your heart were one party, and you 
another, and as if you were right, and all the blame rested 
upon your heart, as an enemy that had insinuated itself by 
some means into your bosom. Wow what is your heart ? — 
why it is simply yourself ; — your moral character and moral 
feelings.* To talk of a contention between yourself and 
your heart, is a complete absurdity, for the parties in the 
contest are one and the self-same thing. The struggle, if 
there is any, is between the claims of God's law, urged by 
his Spirit, on the one side, and you or your heart resisting 
on the other. He commands you to give him your heart, 
that is yourself, — your affections, your love, and you do not 
do it." 

" I know it, but it seems to me that I can not do it. I am 
conscious that my affections are not given to God, — they 
will cling to the world and sin, and I can not help it." 

" The feelings, however, which you can not help, you 
admit to be wrong feelings." 

" Yes, sir, I feel and know that they are wrong, and that 
is what makes me miserable." 

* Fayson. 



WORKS AND FAITH. 47 

Struggling with sin. 



"Then you are more guilty than I supposed. What 
should you say, if you knew of a man who said he had 
such an uncontrollahle desire to steal or to kill that he 
could not help continually committing these crimes ? Should 
you think him worse or better than those who sinned occa- 
ionally under strong temptation ?" 

" But I struggle against the feelings, and can not conquer 
them." 

" And suppose such a man as I have described, should 
meet you in a lonely place, and should tell you that he 
must rob and murder you, — that he had been struggling 
against the disposition, but it was too strong for him. What 
would you think of him ? Why plainly, that he was a man 
of extraordinary depravity. The greater the struggle, the 
greater the evidence of the wickedness which could not be 
overcome. Our duty is to feel right toward God, not to 
struggle with wrong feelings." 

" I feel that that is true. But what to do, I do not know. 
It really seems to me that I wish to repent of sin and forsake 
it, but — but — " 

" But you do not, and therefore it is impossible that you 
should wish to. There is no force applied to you, to continue 
you in sin. If there was, your conduct would not be sin. 
To wish to repent, without repenting, is as impossible and 
absurd, as to wish to be sorry for something for which you 
are really glad. I have no doubt you really think you wish 
to repent, but I think you deceive yourself. What you wish 
for, is some of the results which you suppose ivould follow 
from repentance. This is what the desires of your mind rest 
upon ; but repentance itself looks disagreeable and repulsive, 
and as you can not gain those results in any other way, you 
are troubled and distressed." 

Alonzo saw at once by a glance within, that this was true, 
He longed for peace of mind, — relief from the reproaches of 



48 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Beginning life anew, a vain wish. 

conscience, — the reputation and the standing of a Christian 
here, and assurance of safety and happiness hereafter ; but 
he perceived that he did not long for penitence itself. It 
was a disagreeable means of obtaining a desirable end. He 
was silent for a few moments, and then he said, with a sigh, 

"Oh, how I wish I could begin life anew. I would live 
in a very different maimer from what I have done." 

" That remark shows how little you know, after all, of 
your own character, and of the way of salvation. It is not 
by purifying ourselves, and thus making ourselves fit for 
heaven, — or by any such ideas as should suggest the plan 
of beginning life anew. If you should begin, you would 
undoubtedly be again as you have been." 

Alonzo saw that this was true. He was ashamed that 
he had expressed such a wish, and at length asked, in a 
sorrowful, desponding tone, whether his pastor could say 
nothing to aid or guide him. 

" I do not know that I can," was the reply. " The diffi- 
culty is not the want of knowledge of duty, but the want of 
a heart to do it. If you had the right desires, your difficul- 
ties would all be over in a moment, but as you have not, I 
can not impart them. Since you are thus bent on sin, God 
alone can change you. 

" I will ask you, however, one question. Do you clearly 
understand what this verse means, ' For they, being ignorant 
of God's righteousness, and going about to establish their 
own righteousness, have not submitted themselves to the 
righteousness of God ; for Christ is the end of the law for 
righteousness to every one that belie veth.' " 

"No, sir, I have never thought of it particularly." 

"You feel in some degree the hopelessness of your condi 
tion, if God should leave you to yourself. You have been 
neglecting your highest duty all your days, and in your 
efforts to seek religion, you have been endeavoring to set 



WORKS AND FAITH. 49 

Self-righteousneas. Repairing an old house. 

yourself right, with an idea of thus recommending yourself 
to God's favor. You have been discouraged and disheart- 
ened by this hopeless labor, for the farther you proceed in 
your efforts to repair your character, the more deep and 
extended do you find the proofs of its inherent corruption and 
depravity. 

" You are like the man attempting to repair a house gone 
thoroughly to decay," continued the pastor, and as he said 
these words, he took down from a little set of shelves behind 
him, a small volume, from which he read the following 



" ' The sinner going about to establish a righteousness 
of his own, is like a man endeavoring to repair his house, 
which had thoroughly gone to decay. When he begins, 
there is a tolerably fair exterior. It appears as if a few 
nails to tighten what is loose, — a little new flooring, — and 
here and there a fresh sill, will render all snug again ; and 
that by means of these, together with paint and paper and 
whitewash, to give the proper superficial decoration, all 
will be well, — or, at least, that his building will be as good 
as his neighbor's. When he begins, however, he finds that 
there is a little more to be done than he had expected. 
The first board that he removes in order to replace it by a 
better, reveals one in a worse condition behind it. He 
drives a nail to tighten a clapboard, and it sinks into de- 
cayed wood behind, taking no hold ; he takes away more, 
by little and little, hoping at every removal, to come to the 
end of what is unsound ; but he finds that the more he does, 
the more disheartened and discourageil he feels, for his 
progress in learning the extent of the decay, ke'eps far in 
advance of his progress in repairing it, until at last he finds, 
to his consternation, that every beam is gone, — every rafter 
worm-eaten and decayed, the posts pulverized by the dry 
C 



50 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

The parallel case. The true way of salvation. 

rot, and the foundations cracked and tottering. There is no 
point to start from in making his repairs, no foundation to 
build upon. The restoration of the edifice to strength and 
beauty can never be accomplished, and if it could, the ex- 
pense would far exceed his pecuniary power. His building 
only looks the worse for his having broken its superficial con- 
tinuity. He has but revealed the corruption which he never 
can remove or repair.' 

" Now does not this correspond with your efforts and dis- 
appointments during the last few months 7 " 

" Exactly," said Alonzo. 

" And your case is hopeless if God leaves you to yourself. 
You can not be saved. It is not that you can not come and 
be the child of God if you wish to, but you can not come, 
because you do not ivi&h to. 

" Now this being your condition, you need a Savior. There 
is one for you. If you wish, you can come and unite your- 
self with him. If you do, through, his sufferings and death 
you may be freely forgiven. The responsibility, the liability, 
so to speak, for the past will be cut off. The Savior assumes 
all that burden, and you may go free. By coming and giv- 
ing yourself up wholly to him, you bring your past life as it 
were to a close, and begin a new spiritual life, which comes 
from union with him. The burden of past guilt is like a 
heavy chain, which you have been dragging along, until it 
is too heavy to be borne any longer. Union with Christ 
sunders it at a blow, and you go forward free and happy, 
forgiven for all the past, and for the future enjoying a new 
spiritual life, which you will draw from him. In a word, 
you abandon your oivn character, with the feelings with 
which a man would abandon a wreck, and take refuge with 
Jesus Christ, who will receive you, and procure for you for- 



WORKS AND FAITH. 51 

Alonzo renewed. His walk home. New desires. 

giveness for the past, and strength, for the future, by means 
of his own righteousness and sufferings." 

Alonzo had heard the way of salvation by Christ explained 
a thousand times before, but it always seemed a mysticism 
to him, as it always does to those who have never seen their 
sins and felt the utter hopelessness of their moral condition. 
As long as man is deceived about his true character, he 
needs no Savior. But when he detects himself, — -when his 
eyes are opened, and his deep-seated corruptions are exposed, 
when he feels the chains of sin holding him with a relentless 
gripe in hopeless bondage, — then he finds that utter self- 
abandonment and flying for refuge to union with a Savior 
crucified for his sins — making thus as it were, common cause 
with a divine Redeemer whose past sufferings may be of 
avail to ransom him, and who will supply new spiritual life 
to guide him in future, — he finds this prospect opens to him 
a refuge just such as he needs. 

As Alonzo walked home from this interview, his heart 
dwelt with delight on the love of Christ to men, in thus 
making arrangements for taking lost sinners into such an 
union with him. His heart was full. There was no strug- 
gling to feel this love and gratitude. It was the warm, 
spontaneous movement of his soul, which no struggling could 
have suppressed. He longed for an occasion to do something 
to evince his gratitude. It was evening, and he looked for- 
ward with delight to the opportunity of calling together his 
family to establish family prayers. He almost wished that 
the exercise was twice as embarrassing as it was, for it seem- 
ed to him that an opportunity to suffer some real pain or 
sacrifice, in the cause of his Savior, would be a high enjoy- 
ment to him, as a gratification of the new feelings of love 
which burned within him. 

As he walked along, his heart clung, as it were, to the Sa- 
vior, with a feeling of quiet happiness. In former days, he 



52 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

The great change. Created anew. Address to the reader. 

thought he loved him, deceived, as we have already shown ; 
— now he kneio that he loved him. He saw " God in Christ, 
reconciling the world unto himself," and the Savior whom 
he there saw was all in all. 

When he opened his Bible, old familiar passages, which 
had always seemed to him mystical and unintelligible, shone 
with new meaning. 

" Christ has redeemed us from the curse of the law, being 
made a curse for us." " Being justified by faith, we have 
peace with God by our Lord Jesus Christ." " I am crucified 
with Christ, nevertheless I live, — but the life I now live in 
the flesh, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me 
and gave himself for me." 

Alonzo made greater efforts to do his duty after this than 
he did before, but it was for a different object and in a dif- 
ferent way. Then, he was trying to establish his own 
righteousness, so as to fit himself for heaven. He abandoned 
this altogether now, having hope only in Christ, — undeserved 
mercy in Christ. He, however, made great efforts to grow 
in grace and do good to others, — but it was now simply be- 
cause he loved to do it. Then he made these efforts as an 
unpleasant but a supposed necessary means to a desired end. 
Now he hoped to secure that end in another way, and he 
made these efforts, because they were delightful on their 
own account. He was, in fact, a neiv creature; a "NEW 
creature in Christ Jesus ;" — changed not by his vain 
efforts to establish his own righteousness, but by the regener- 
ating influences of the Holy Spirit, altering fundamentally 
the desires and affections of his inmost soul. 

Reader ! — in going forward through this volume, which 
will explain to you the way to do good, if your aim is secretly 
or openly to Jit yourself, by your good deeds, for the approba- 
tion of God, and thus to procure the pardon of your .-•' s,— 



WORKS AND FAITH. 53 



the farther you go, and the greater the effort you make, the 
more discouraged and disheartened you will be. For your 
progress in discovering the corruption and depravity of your 
heart, will keep far in advance of your success in correcting 
or repairing it. The hopeless task may as well be abandoned 
in the beginning as at the end. Come first to the Savior. 
Give up yourself, your character, — and all the hopes you may 
have founded upon it. Unite yourself with Christ as the 
branch is united to the vine, that is, so as to be sustained by 
one common vitality. This will of course be a new life to you, 
a spiritual life, without which all excellence is superficial, all 
hopes of eternal happiness baseless, and all real peace and 
enjoyment unknown. 



54 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 



Happiness secured by doing good. 



CHAPTER II. 

MOTIVES. 

" That ye may be the children of your Father which is in heaven." 

The last chapter was intended to show the reader that the 
impulse which should lead us to the performance of good 
works in this world of probation, is not a hope of thereby 
fitting ourselves by meritorious performances, for God's ser- 
vice in heaven ; but a spontaneous love for God and man, 
urging us forward in such a course, while our hope of forgive- 
ness for sin rests on other grounds altogether. We have 
some other considerations in respect to the motives which 
ought to influence us in doing good, which we shall present 
in this chapter. 

By engaging in the work of doing good to others, we do 
not by any means sacrifice our own happiness. We often, 
indeed, give up some of the ordinary means of enjoyment, 
but we do not sacrifice the end. We secure our own richest, 
purest enjoyment, though in a new and better way. We 
change the character of our happiness too ; for the pleasure 
which results from carrying happiness to the hearts of others 
is very different in its nature from that which we secure by 
aiming directly at our own. Now the reader ought to con- 
sider these things, and understand distinctly at the outset, 
whether he is in such a state of mind and heart that he 
wishes to pursue the happiness of others, or whether, on the 



Scene at home. 



The stormy evening. 



55 



Enjoyments. 



other hand, he means to confine his efforts to the promotion 
of his own. 

On some cold winter evening, perhaps, you return from the 
husiness of the day to your home, and I will suppose that 
you have there the comforts of life all around you. You 
draw up your richly-stuffed elbow-chair by the side of the 
glowing fire which beams and brightens upon the scene of 
elegance which your parlor exhibits. A new and entertain- 
ing book is in your hand, and fruits and refreshments are by 




your side upon the table. Here you may sit hour after hour, 
enjoying these means of comfort and happiness, carried away 
perhaps by the magic of the pan to distant and different 
scenes, from which you return now and then to listen a mo- 
ment to the roaring of the wintry wind, or the beating of the 
snow upon your windows. If you have a quiet conscience, 



50 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Another plan. The waik. 

you may find much happiness in such a scene, especially if 
gratitude to God as the bestower of such comforts, and aa 
your kind Protector and Friend, warms your heart and 
quickens your sensibilities. Here you may sit hour after hour, 
until Orion has made his steady way through the clouds and 
storms of the sky, high into the heavens. 

But still though this might be enjoyment, there is another 
way of spending an hour of the evening which would also 
afford enjoyment, though of a different kind. You lay aside 
your book, trundle back your cushioned chair, — pack your 
fruit and refreshments in a small basket, — take down from 
your secretary a little favorite volume of hymns, and then 
muffling yourself as warmly as possible in cap and wrapper, 
you sally forth in the midst of the storm. 

The wintry wind drives through silent and desolated 
streets. The doors and windows of the houses that you pass 
are blockaded with the fallen snow. A solitary passenger 
now and then passes hurrjedly along, now making his way 
through deep drifts, and now walking more freely over a spot 
which the wind has swept bare. A single carriage is pass- 
ing, mounted upon runners, the horses plunging through the 
drifts. The carriage glides silently along, and instead of the 
usual thuudering of wheels, and trampling of horses and 
men, heard in the streets of the city, there is now no sound 
but the howling of the wind, and the sharp clicking of the 
hail and snow. 

The brick sidewalk is half concealed by the increasing 
drifts among which you make your slippery way, until you 
turn down into a narrow court, guiding your steps to one of 
its humbLe houses. You enter by a low door. It is not, 
however, the abode of poverty. There is comfort and plenty 
under this roof, — on a different scale indeed, from that which 
you have left at home, though perhaps not at all inferior, in 
respect to the actual enjoyment they afford. 



MOTIVES. 57 

The sick boy. 



The mother who welcomes you is a widow, and the daily 
labor of her hands procures for her all that is necessary for 
her wants, and many things besides, which she enjoys highly 
as luxuries. She enjoys them more highly, perhaps, than 
ycu do the costly splendors that you have left. Her bright 
brass lamps, which she toiled several days to earn, and the 
plain rocking-chair in the corner, are to her as much, and 
perhaps more, than your tall astral crowned with its cut glass 
shade, or your splendid ottoman. 

In. a word, all the wants of this family are well supplied, 
so that I am not going to introduce the reader to a scene of 
pecuniary charity, as he may perhaps have supposed. You 
must bring something more valuable than money here, if 
you wish to do good. You have something more valuable 
than money — Christian sympathy ; this I will suppose you 
to bring. 

On one side of the fire is a cradle which the mother has been 
rocking. You take your seat in a low chair by the side of it, 
and leaning over it, you look upon the pale face of a little 
sufferer who has been for many months languishing there. 
His disease has curved his back, and brought his head over 
toward his breast, and contracted his lungs, and he lies there 
in bonds which death only can sunder. Something like a 
smile lights up his features to see that his friend has come 
again to see him even through the storm. That smile and 
its meaning will repay you for all the cold blasts which you 
encountered on your way to the sick-room. After a few 
minutes' conversation with the boy, you ask if he would like 
to have you walk with him a little. He reaches up his arms 
to you, evidently pleased with the proposal, and you lift him 
from his pillow ; — and you enjoy, yourself, more even than 
he does, the relief which he experiences in extending his 
limbs, cramped by the narrow dimensions of his cradle. 



65 



THE WAY TO DO GOOD 



Enjoymen' of another kind. 




THE VISIT. 



You raise him in 
your arms. He is not 
heavy. Disease has 
diminished his weight, 
and you walk to and 
fro across the room 
with a gentle step, — 
his head reclining upon 
your shoulder. The 
uneasy, restless expres- 
sion which was upon 
his countenance is 
gradually changed for 
one of peaceful repose ; 
until, at length, lulled 
hy the gentle sound of 
your voice, he drops 
into a quiet slumber. You may walk with him many, many 
times across the floor, before fatigue will counterbalance the 
pleasure you will receive, in watching his placid and happy 
look reflected in the glass behind you when you turn. 

At last he wakes, and you gently lay him down into his 
cradle again. You read him a hymn expressive of resigna- 
tion to God, and confidence in his kind protection. Kneeling 
down by his cradle and holding his hand in yours, you offer 
a simple prayer in his hehalf, and when at length you rise to 
go away, you see in his countenance and feel in the sponta- 
neous pressure of his little hand, that though he says nothing, 
for he has not yet learned the cold forms of civility, — his 
heart is full of happiness and gratitude. In witnessing it, 
and in recalling the scene to your mind in your cold and 
stormy walk home, you will experience an enjoyment which 
I can not describe, but which all who have experienced it 
will understand. This enjoyment is, however, very different 



MOTIVES. 59 

Happiness secured though not directly sought. 

in its nature from the solitary happiness you would have felt 
at your own fireside. "Which kind, now, do you prefer ? 

The case I have described is, it is true, an experiment on 
a very small scale. The good done, was very little, — it was 
only half an hour's partial relief for a sick child, and another 
half-hour's happiness for him afterward, as he lies in silence 
and solitude in his cradle, musing on the kindness of his vis- 
itor. This is indeed doing good on a small scale, but then 
on the other hand it is making hut a small effort. It shows 
the better perhaps on account of its being so simple a case, 
the point to be illustrated, namely, that you may take two 
totally different modes to make a winter evening pass pleas- 
antly ; and it is not merely a difference of means when the 
end is the same, but a difference in the very end and object 
itself. 

" But is not the end sought in both cases our own happi- 
ness ?" you ask. 

No, it is not. And this leads me to a distinction, — a. 
metaphysical distinction, which every one who wishes to do 
good on the right principles ought to understand. The dis- 
tinction is contained summarily in the following propositions, 
and I wish my young reader would pause and reflect upon 
them, until their meaning is distinctly understood, and then 
he will be prepared to enter into the spirit of the remarks 
which follow. The propositions are elementary, — the very 
foundations of the science of doing good. 

1. One may do good for the sake of the credit or the ad- 
vantage of it ; in which case it is a matter of policy. 

2. He may do good for the sake of the pleasure of it. 
Here it is a matter of feeling. 

3. He may do good simply for the sake of obeying God, 
and from the desire to have the good done. In this case it is 
a matter of principle. 

I . A. man may do good for the sake of the credit of it ; 



60 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Various motives ; perhaps not wholly wrong. 

and this is the secret of a far greater proportion of the 
apparently henevolent effort which is made in the world, 
than is generally supposed. I do not by any means say that 
it is wrong for a man to desire the good opinion of others, 
and especially to wish to be known as a man of kind feeling 
for the wants and sufferings of others, his fellow-men. This 
is probably right. The degree, the extent, to which this 
operates upon us as a stimulus to effort, is the main point. 

There are various ways in which this principle may ope- 
rate. You may go and visit the sick, and carry comforts to 
the poor, and be very active and bustling in your efforts to 
gather Sabbath-school scholars, or to distribute tracts, or to 
collect contributions for charitable purposes, — and you pass 
along from month to month, imagining that your motives and 
feelings are all right. And yet if you were at any time to 
pause and reflect, and call your heart thoroughly to- account, 
you would find that your real stimulus is the wish to be 
esteemed by all your Christian acquaintances as an ardent and 
a devoted Christian, or an active, efficient, successful mem- 
ber or manager of a charitable society. Or you may con- 
tribute money, — alas ! how much is so contributed, — because 
you know it will be expected of you. The box or the paper 
comes round, and you can not easily escape it. You do the 
good, not for the sake of having the good done, but to save 
your own credit. Or, to take another case still, on a larger 
scale, and more gross in its nature, — you may, if a man of 
business and wealth, take a large share in some costly, be- 
nevolent enterprise, with the design of enlarging your influ- 
ence or extending your business by the effect which your 
share in the transaction will produce upon the minds of others. 
It is true that this feeling would not be unmixed. You would 
look, and try to look, as much as possible at the benevolent 
object to be accomplished, — and a heart deceitful above all 
things, and desperately wicked, will attempt to persuade you 



Gl 



that this is your sole, or at least your principal desire. But 
if in such a case you were suddenly laid upon a dying bed, 
and could look upon the transaction in the bright spiritual 
light which the vicinity of another world throws upon all 
human actions and pursuits, you would see that in all these 
cases you are doing good, not for the sake of pleasing God by 
doing his work, — but to promote in various ways your own 
private ends. 

Let it be understood that we do not say that this would 
be wrong — nor do we say it would be right. We say nothing 
about it. How far, and into what fields, a just and proper 
policy will lead a man, in the transaction of his worldly 
affairs, it is not now our business to inquire. The subject 
which we are considering is not policy, but benevolence ; — 
and the only point which we wish here to carry, is inducing 
the young Christian, in commencing his course of religious 
action, to discriminate, — to understand distinctly what is 
benevolence and what is not ; — to have his mental and 
moral powers so disciplined, that when he really is doing 
good for the sake of the credit of it, he may distinctly 
know it. 

2. Doing good from the impulse of sentimental feeling, is 
regarded among men as of a higher moral rank than doing 
good from policy. Though after all it might perhaps be a 
little difficult to assign a substantial reason for the distinc- 
tion. One of the lowest examples of doing good from mere 
feeling, is where we make effort to relieve pain, because we 
can not bear to see it. A wretched-looking child, with bare 
feet and half naked bosom, comes to our door in a cold in- 
clement season of the year. He comes, it may be, to beg 
for food or clothing. "We should perhaps never have thought 
of making any search in our neighborhood for objects of suf- 
fering, but when such an object obtrudes itself upon us, we 
can not bear to send him away with a denial. We give him 



62 THE WAY TO DO GOOI. 

Another case. Principle. Nature of it. 

food or clothing, or perhaps money ; but our chief inducement 
for doing it is to relieve a feeling of uneasiness in our own 
minds. We do not say that this is wrong. All we say is, 
that it is not acting from principle. It may he considered a 
moral excellence that the mind is so constituted in respect to 
its powers and to its sympathy with others, that it can not 
he happy itself while an object of misery is near, and the 
happiness of knowing that all around us are happy, may be 
a kind of enjoyment which it is very proper for us to seek. 
But still this is doing good from feeling, not from principle. 

Feeling will often prompt a benevolent man to make 
efforts to promote positive enjoyment, as well as to relieve 
mere suffering which forces itself upon the notice. You 
"get interested," as the phrase is, in some unhappy widow, 
perhaps, and her children, — a case of destitution and suffer- 
ing, with which you have become casually acquainted. The 
circumstances of her case are such, perhaps, as at first to 
make a strong appeal to your feelings, and after beginning 
to act in her behalf, yo.u are led on from step to step by the 
pleasure of doing good, till you have found her regular em- 
ployment, and relieved all her wants, and provided for the 
comfort and proper education of her children. All this may 
be right ; but it may be simply feeling, which has prompted 
it. There may have been no steady principle of benevolence 
through the whole. 

3. Doing good from principle. There is a far wider dif- 
ference between the benevolence of principle, and the benev- 
olence of feeling, than young Christians who have not fully 
considered the subject are aware of. Principle looks first to 
God. She sees him engaged in the work of promoting uni- 
versal holiness and happiness. Not universal holiness, mere- 
ly as a means of happiness, but holiness and happiness ; — 
for moral excellence is in itself a good, independently of any 
enjoyment which may result from it. So that Principle has 



MOTIVES. 63 

Policy. An allegory. 

two distinct and independent, though closely connected ob- 
jects, while Feeling has but one. Principle decides deliber- 
ately to engage as a co-operator with God, in promoting the 
prosperity of his kingdom ; — which kingdom is the prevalence 
of perfect holiness and universal enjoyment. She does not 
then rush heedlessly into the field and seize hold of the first 
little object which comes in her way. She acts upon a plan. 
She surveys the field. She considers what means and re- 
sources she now has, and what she may, by proper effort, 
bring within her reach ; and then aims at acting in such a 
manner as shall hi the end promote, in the highest and best 
way, the designs of God. She feels, too, that in these labors 
she is not alone. She is not a principal. She is endeavor- 
ing to execute the plans of a superior, and she endeavors to 
act, not as her own impulses might prompt, but as the na- 
ture and character of his great designs require. 

Doing good from motives of policy, the first of the induce- 
ments which we have considered, is not likely to find much 
favor with human hearts, if it can be simply deprived of its 
disguise. But the distinction between feeling and principle 
demands more careful attention. The two may sometimes 
co-operate. In fact, they do very well together, but Feeling 
can not be trusted alone with the work of benevolence. She 
will aid, she will inspirit Principle, and enable her to do her 
work better and more pleasantly, but she can not be trusted 
alone. 

We can, perhaps, more clearly show the distinction be- 
tween the benevolence of Principle and of Feeling, by an 
allegorical illustration. Let us suppose, then, that one eve- 
ning, Feeling and Principle were walking in a road, upon 
the outskirts of a country town. They had been to attend 
an evening service in a school-house, half a mile from tbeir 
homes. It was a cold winter evening, and as they passed 
by the door of a small cabin, with boarded windows and 



64 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

A scene in the evening. Conversation- 

broken roof, they saw a child sitting at the door, weeping 
and sobbing bitterly. 

Feeling looked anxious and concerned. 

"What is the matter, my little fellow?" said Principle, 
with a pleasant countenance. 

The boy sobbed on. 

" What a house," said Feeling, " for human beings to live 
in. But I do not think any thing serious is the matter. Let 
us go on." 

"What is the matter, my boy?" said Principle again, 
kindly. "Can you not tell us what is the matter ?" 

"My father is sick," said the boy, "and I don't know 
what is the matter with him." 

" Hark," said Feeling. 

They listened, and heard the sounds of moaning and mut- 
tering within the house. 

"Let us go on," said Feeling, pulling upon Principle's 
arm, " and we will send somebody to see what is the matter." 

"We had better go and see ourselves," said Principle to 
her companion. 

Feeling shrunk back from the proposal, and Principle her- 
self, with female timidity, paused a moment, from an unde- 
fined sense of danger. 

" There can be no real danger," thought she. "Besides, 
if there is, my. Savior exposed himself to danger in doing 
good. Why should not I ? Savior," she whispered, " aid 
and guide me." 

"Where is your mother, my boy," said she. 

" She is in there," said the boy, " trying to take care of him." 

"Oh, come," said Feeling, "let us go. Here, my boy, 
here is some money for you to carry to your mother." Saying 
this, she tossed down some change by his side. The boy 
was wiping his eyes, and did not notice it. He looked up 
anxiously into Principle's face, and said, 



MOTIVES. 65 

A wretched fireside. Effect of sympathy. 

" I wish you would go and see my mother." 

Principle advanced toward the door, and Feeling, afraid 
to stay out, or to go home alone, followed. 

They walked in. Lying upon a bed of straw, and covered 
with miserable and tattered blankets, was a sick man, moan- 
ing and muttering and snatching at the bed-clothes with his 
fingers. He was evidently not sane. 

His wife was sitting on the end of a bench, by the chim- 
ney corner, with her elbows on her knees, and her face upon 
her hands. As her visitors entered, she looked up to them, 
the very picture of wretchedness and despair. Principle was 
glad, but Feeling was sorry, that they had come. 

Feeling began to talk to some small children, who were 
shivering over the embers upon the hearth, and Principle 
accosted the mother. They both learned soon the true state 
of the case. It was a case of common misery, resulting from 
the common cause. Feeling was overwhelmed with painful 
emotion at witnessing such suffering. Principle began to 
think what could be done to relieve it, and to prevent its 
return. 

" Let us give her some money to send and buy some wood, 
and some bread," whispered Feeling, " and go away ; I can 
not bear to stay." 

" She wants kind words and sympathy, more than food and 
fuel, for present relief," said Principle, "let us sit with her a 
little while." 

The poor sufferer was cheered and encouraged by their 
presence. A little hope broke in. Her strength revived 
under the influence of a cordial more powerful than any 
medicated beverage ; and when, after half an hour, they 
went away promising future relief, the spirits and strength 
of the wretched wife and mother had been a little restored. 
She had smoothed her husband's wretched couch, and quieted 
her crying children, and shut her doors, and was preparing 



66 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Feeling and principle contrasted. Feeling unsteady ; fickle. 

to enjoy the relief when it should come. In a word, she had 
been revived from the stupor of despair. As they walked 
away, Feeling said, it was a most heart-rending scene, and 
that she should not forget it as long as she lived. Principle 
eaid nothing, hut guided the way to a house where they 
found one whom they could employ to carry food and fuel 
to the cabin, and take care, of the sick man, while the wife 
and her children should sleep. They then returned home 
Feeling retired to rest, shuddering lest the terrible scene 
should haunt her in her dreams, and saying that she would 
not witness such a scene again, for all the world. Principle 
kneeled down at her bedside with a mind at peace. She 
commended the sufferers to God's care, and prayed that her 
Savior would give her every day some such work to do for 
him. 

Such, in a very simple case, is the difference between 
Feeling and Principle. The one obeys God. The other 
obeys her own impulses, and relieves misery because she 
can not bear to see it. As a consequence of this difference 
in the very nature of their benevolence, many results follow 
in respect to the character of their efforts. 

1. Feeling is unsteady. Acting from impulse merely, it 
is plain that she will not act excepting when circumstances 
occur to awaken the impulse. She therefore can not he 
depended upon. Her stimulus is from without. It arises 
from external objects acting upon her, and consequently her 
benevolence rises and falls as external circumstances vary. 
The stimulus of Principle is from within. It is a heart 
reconciled to God, and consequently united to him, and 
desiring to carry forward his plans. Consequently when 
there is no work actually before her, she goes forth of her 
own accord and seeks work. She is consequently steady. 

2. Feeling will not persevere. When she sees Buffering, 
she feels uneasy, and to remove this uneasiness, she makes 



MOTIVES. 67 

Feeling inconsiderate. Deficiences of mere feeling. 

benevolent effort. But there are two ways of removing it. 
She will cease to feel uneasiness not only when the suffer- 
ing is relieved, but also when she becomes accustomed to 
witnessing it. She feeds a starving child, not because sne 
wishes the . child to be happy, but because she can not bear 
to see him wretched. Now, as soon as she becomes accus- 
tomed to see wretchedness, she can hear it easily enough ; 
and therefore she can not go on with any long course of 
benevolent effort. For before long she becomes accustomed 
to the suffering, — it ceases to affect her,— and then her 
whole impulse, which is her whole motive, is gone. 

3. Feeling is inconsiderate. What she wishes is not to 
do good, but to relieve her own wounded sensibilities. She 
will give a wretched object money at the door, though she 
might know that he uses money principally as the means of 
procuring that which is the chief cause of his wretchedness. 
That is, however, of no consequence to her, for the new 
misery she makes will be out of her sight, and her purpose 
is answered equally well, whether the misery is relieved, or 
only removed from view. Therefore, she is inconsiderate, — 
acting with good intentions, — but often increasing the evil 
that she intended to remedy. 

4. Feeling aims only at relieving palpable wretchedness. 
She might, indeed, if she was wise, aim at promoting general 
happiness on an enlarged plan ; for her own enjoyment would 
be most highly promoted by this. But she is not generally 
very wise ; and while Principle forms plans, and makes sys- 
tematic efforts to promote the general enjoyment, Feeling 
continues in a state of moral inaction in respect to the work 
of doing good, unless there is some specific and palpable 
suffering to be relieved. 

5. And once more, Feeling does not aim at promoting 
holiness or diminishing sin, on their own account. Principle 
considers sin an evil, and holiness or moral excellence a good, 



68 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Principle. Principle persevering ; systematic 

in themselves, on their own account, and independently of 
their connection with enjoyment and suffering. She wculd 
rather have all men grateful and obedient to God, and united 
to one another, even if they were to gain nothing by it in re- 
spect to happiness. Feeling does not take this view of the 
subject. Nothing affects her but the sight or the tale of 
woe. If you can show her that sin is the cause of some 
suffering which she is attempting to relieve, she will perhaps 
take an interest in endeavoring to remove it, as a means to 
the accomplishment of an end ; but in respect to the univer- 
sal reign of love to God and love to man, on account of the 
intrinsic excellence of love, she feels no interest. She does 
not perceive this moral excellence ; and she may be herself 
entirely destitute of this love. 

In all these respects, and in many more, analogous to 
them, Principle is very different from Feeling. 

1. She is steady and persevering. She has in mind, one 
great object, the universal establishment of the kingdom of 
God. This is what she lives for, and she is steadily pressing 
on in the accomplishment of her work. When she attempts 
to do good in any particular case, it is not to relieve herself 
from pained sensibilities, but to promote the great cause ; 
and when, accordingly, the acuteness of her feelings have 
been blunted by time and use, she goes on more vigorously 
and with more energy, — not less. Her impulse is from 
within. It is a deliberate, a fixed and a settled desire to 
please God, to co-operate in his plans, and to promote human 
happiness. This is a steady principle which leads her to seek 
work, — not merely to do what is obtruded upon her. 

2. Principle acts upon a plan. She makes it a part of her 
business to look all around her, and see in what ways and how 
extensively she can have any influence on the character and 
happiness of human beings. Then she considers what ob- 
jects ought to be aimed at, and what is their comparative 



MOTIVES. 69 

Principle a co-operator with God. Analysis of our benevolent acts. 

value, and how long life may be expected to endure. With 
all these elements in view, she forms wise and systematic 
plans, extending as far as her influence can be made to extend. 
In a word, she feels that she has a great work to do, and en- 
deavors to make arrangements for doing it systematically and 
thoroughly. 

3. Principle aims, too, as I have before intimated, at pro- 
moting goodness as well as happiness. She looks upon men 
as moral beings, not merely sentient beings, and aims at pro- 
moting their moral excellence as well as their enjoyment. 
In fact, the former attracts far the greater portion of her 
regard, for it is not only a good in itself, but it is the only 
sure foundation of happiness. 

4. And once more, Principle engages in her work as a child 
of God, and a co-operater with him. She feels at all times, 
therefore, a sense of filial dependence. She puts forth her 
hand to be led, and goes wherever her Master calls. She 
reports regularly to him, too, acting solely as his obedient 
and dutiful child. 

The reader will thus, I hope, clearly understand the dis- 
tinction between policy, feeling, and principle, as stimulus 
to effort in doing good. The inquiry will naturally arise, 
— at least it ought to arise with each one, what is the 
character of his own benevolent effort. We shall all find 
that these motives are mixed in our hearts, and by a care- 
ful self-examination, we shall probably perceive that policy 
has more influence than either of the others. I do not 
mean by policy, a deliberate intention to pretend to be be- 
nevolent for the purpose of accomplishing a sinister design 
I mean, doing good, with some real interest in it, but 
where the paramount inducement, after all, is the fight in 
which the affair will be viewed by others. This may not 
be always wrong, as we have before remarked. A man 
ought not to be indifferent entirely to his own reputation. 



70 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Principle the only stable basis. Imagination. 

The favorable regard of the wise and good, every one 
should desire, and it is right to take pleasure in the sense of 
its possession ; hut there are probably very few who would 
not be surprised, if they were to see their good deeds honestly 
analyzed, to find how large a portion of the inducement 
in nearly all of them, was a wish to be seen of men. To 
discriminate between the benevolence of feeling and that 
of principle, requires still greater care. The distinction is 
not exactly one between right and wrong, for to be influenced 
by feeling, in our efforts, is certainly not wrong. We ought 
to feel deep compassion for the sufferings of others, and a 
great personal pleasure in the work of alleviating them. 
But 'principle ought to be the great basis of all our efforts 
at doing good. It is the only stable basis, — and it is the 
only one which in any degree enables us to fulfill our 
obligations as the creatures of God. Doing good on prin- 
ciple, is the only kind of benevolence which is pleasing to 
him. 

If we wish to know which of these motives control us, 
we must pause when we are about to make some effort to 
do good, and allow our thoughts to go freely forward, and 
see what is the object on which they will rest, as the end 
to be secured. When, for example, you are making efforts 
to prepare yourself well, for duties as teacher of a class in 
the Sunday-school, what is it, that your heart rests upon as 
the object you are pursuing in it ? Your imagination goes 
forward, beyond your present preparation ; now follow her ; 
see where she goes ; what picture does she form ? Does 
she exhibit to your eye, the beautiful appearance of a full 
and an attentive class, to be noticed by the other teachers, 
or the superintendent, or by some individual friend, whose 
good opinion you particularly desire ? Does she whisper to 
you the praises of your fidelity, and your success, or does 
she warn you of the reproof, or the censure, secret or open 



MOTIVES. 71 

The way to test the real motives. 

which you must expect if you are unfaithful ? Or does she 
on the other hand, lead you to the hearts of the children, 
and show you renewed, sanctified affections there ? Does 
she picture to you their future lives, purified from sin, and 
lead you to anticipate through them, the extension of the 
Redeemer's kingdom ? % 

So when a friend calls upon you, to ask your subscription 
to a charity, — to relieve distress for example, — and you sit 
listening to the story, and determined to add your name to 
the list, — what is it that your imagination reposes upon at 
the instant of decision ? The satisfaction of the applicant at 
finding you ready to aid, or the sight of your name by those 
to whom the paper is to be borne, or relief from the pain 
awakened by the sad details of the story ? Or, is it the 
pleasure of obeying God, and aiding in doing his work ? 
What is it in such cases, that your mind rests upon at the 
moment of decision ? Recall a few such cases to mind, and 
give the reins to your heart, and see where it will go. If 
you take off all -restraint, and let it move freely, it will run 
to its own end, and there repose itself upon the object which 
it is really seeking. 

So far as principle may control you in your efforts to do 
good, it will tend to identify you in heart and feeling, and in 
plans, with God, and lead you to act in imitation of his ex- 
ample, and as a laborer by his side. Let us look then at the 
benevolence of the Deity, for this is the benevolence which 
you are to cherish. This you are to imitate, — to co-operate 
with. You can not, therefore, study it too closely. Let us 
devote, then, the remaining paragraphs of the chapter to a 
particular consideration of the character which the benevo- 
lence of the Deity assumes. 

1 . It would seem to be the great plan and the great em- 
ployment of the Deity, to fill the universe with sentient ex- 



72 



THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 



Character of the benevolence of God. 

istence, and to provide the whole mighty mass with the 
means of happiness in the greatest possible variety. There 
is, it is true, a vast amount of suffering visible around us, 
but far the greater portion of it we can ourselves directly 
trace to sin, and the Bible assures us that it all comes directly 
or indirectly from this one poisonous fountain. The arrange- 
ments which God has made tend all to happiness. It is only 
our perversions of them, and our violations of his laws, that 
tend to misery. 

Take your stand upon the sea-shore, on a summer morn- 
ing, and observe the expression of the face of nature. It is, 
as it were, the expression of the cour tenance of God. Ob- 
serve the serene sky, — the mild balmy air, the smooth ex- 
panse of water before you, reflecting as in a polished mirror, 
every rocky crag, and smooth island, and sandy shore, and 
even every spar and rope of the vessel which seems to sleep 




THE SEA-MU'KC. 



MOTIVES. 73 

Plans to promote happiness. Simple sources of pleasure. 

upon its bosom. Enveloping you all around, is the thin 
elastic atmosphere, — balanced in a most delicate equilibrium, 
— so delicate, that that workman's axe which you see regu- 
larly descending upon the wood on that distant point of land, 
sends a tremulous vibration through the transparent fluid, 
for a mile all around. Yes, every ripple upon the shore, 
every song of the locust, even the hum of the distant town 
sends its own peculiar quivering through the whole, and each 
brings distinctly and undisturbed to your ear, its own correct 
report. At your feet, the clear waters bathe the rocks and 
pebbles of the shore, and aquatic animals creep over them, 
or swim in the depths below, enjoying sensations of pleasure 
which God has carefully provided for every one. He who 
has a soid capable of understanding it, will sit for hours upon 
the green bank, at a time like this, receiving an indescribable 
pleasure from the general expression of such a scene. It is 
an expression of divine benevolence, beaming from the works 
of God, which it is strange that human beings can ever fail 
to understand and love. 

How many thousand ingenious contrivances, has God 
planned and executed to make men happy. The catalogue 
is endless, of simple pleasures, each distinct from all the rest, 
which the human being has the opportunity to enjoy. In 
fact, if man acts on proper principles, and according to the 
intentions of the Creator, every thing is a source of happiness 
to him. Employment is pleasant, and rest is pleasant. It 
is pleasant to begin a new work ; it is pleasant to finish one, 
begun. Morning is delightful, — with its freshness, its ani- 
mation, its calls and its opportunities for exertion. Evening 
is delightful too, with its quiet, its stillness, its repose. The 
summer's sun gladdens the heart, — and so does the refresh- 
ing rain, when we see the dry ground drinking it in, as if it 
enjoyed the extinguishment of its thirst ; — and so does the 
wintry storm, when it howls through the trees, and fills up 
D 



74 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 



tunning water. 



every road and path, and obscures the window, and spreads 
over fields, and plains, its mantle of snow. Each comes with 
its own peculiar voice to the heart, and fills it with peaceful 
happiness. 

All these contrivances are plain and obvious, and yet they 
are no less contrivances — artfully planned, to increase human 
enjoyment. There must have been a peculiar and skillful 
workmanship, in constructing the moral mechanism of the 
human heart, to secure so many different kinds of happiness, 
by means of external objects, so numerous, and so diversified. 
You can give no reason why the heart of a child is filled with 
such joyous glee, when the first snow-flakes descend. There 
is no very special beauty in the sight, — and there are no very 
well-defined hopes of slides or rides, to awaken such joy. At 
fifty, the gladness is not expressed so unequivocally, but yet 
when the gravest philosopher rides through a wood whose 
boughs are loaded with the snow, and whose tops bend over 
with the burden ; — and looks upon the footsteps of the rabbit 
who has leaped along over the ground, — he feels the same 
pleasure, though he indicates it, by riding on in silent mus- 
ing, instead of uttering exclamations of delight. Can you 
explain this pleasure ? Is there any describable pleasure in 
a great expanse of white ? Is the form of the trees, or the 
beauty of its foliage improved by the snowy mantle ? No. 
The explanation is, that God, who formed the laws of nature, 
formed also the human heart, and has so adapted the one to 
the other, as to promote in every variety of mode, the enjoy- 
ment of the beings he has made. 

There is no end to the kinds of enjoyment, which God has 
thus opened to us everywhere. They are too numerous to 
be named, and no intellectual philosopher has ever under- 
taken the hopeless task of arranging them. Who, — to name 
one other example, — who, when walking on the banks of a 
brook, at a time when business or cares did not press him on 



MOTIVES. 75 

Emotions awakened by them. Various sources of enjoyment 

has not stopped to gaze a moment upon the running water, 
as it rippled over the smooth yellow sands. That quivering 
picture on the retina of the eye gives delight, and the passing 
traveler is arrested and stands still, and keeps his eye fixed 
upon the spot, that the retina may enjoy it. And who can 
define, or explain, or classify, or name the pleasant feeling ? 
There is hut one explanation. God, delighting in contrivances 
for promoting enjoyment, has formed the brook, the retina, 
and the feeling heart affected hy it, in such a way that en- 
joyment shall he developed, when they come into combina- 
tion. It is so, as I have said, in a thousand other cases, and 
man, if he would keep his heart free from moral pollutions 
which destroy the peace, and disturh and poison every source 
of happiness, would find all nature continually communicat- 
ing to him, through one sense and another, feelings of pure 
und rational happiness. 

Still all this is happiness of the lowest kind. It is true, 
indeed, that these feelings may he so mingled and combined 
with the higher moral feelings, as to partake in some degree 
of their nature ; still, in itself, this is happiness of the lowest 
kind ; hut yet it is happiness which God has made distinct 
and expensive arrangements for ; and these arrangements, 
therefore, clearly speak his love. 

The number and variety of these simple pleasures, which 
the senses may be the means of affording, is immense, and 
each must have required its own separate mechanism to se- 
cure it. I refer to the mechanism of the heart, not of the 
organ of sense by which the image comes in. The feeling, 
for example, which is awakened hy the sight of running 
water is totally different, not in degree, but in kind, from 
that which we experience in looking upon a tender, full, 
bursting rose-bud in the spring ; — and both are diverse from 
the emotion awakened by looking out at midnight upon a 
somber moonlight scene, among the solitudes of the moun 



76 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Higher pleasures. Employment. The merchant's counting-room. 

tains. The same mechanism of the eye answers for all, but 



the heart must have its own peculiar and appropriate sus- 
ceptibilities for each. And so with all the other thousand 
susceptibilities of enjoyment, which the human heart pos- 
sesses. Each is the result of a special arrangement made ex- 
pressly to secure it. 

And yet all these, numerous as they are, and high as they 
would be, in the degree of enjoyment they would procure for 
us, were it not for the corroding anxieties of sin, belong to 
the lowest class of human enjoyments. So much so, that 
in most religious treatises upon the benevolence of God they 
are scarcely named. There are far higher and nobler plans 
which God has formed for the happiness of his creatures. 

2. Among these higher plans, is the pleasure which God 
has annexed to the faithful and proper performance of the 
duties of life. Each kind of employment seems to have its 
own peculiar and appropriate pleasure. One man is stationed 
on a farm, which he holds as a little empire within which 
he is almost supreme, and the whole arrangement of the cir- 
cumstances of his connection with it is such as to afford him 
the highest happiness in administering his government there. 
Another is a merchant. You look into his counting-room, 
and see nothing there but a high desk and a three-legged 
stool, and a row of ponderous ledgers. " What a place for a 
human being to spend his days in !" you exclaim. What a 
place ? — why, in that cheerless-looking room there are found 
all the materials for the highest intellectual and moral enjoy- 
ment. In planning those voyages, in effecting sales, in trans- 
ferring value from one form to another, in inspecting his pe- 
riodical balance-sheet, and watching his losses and gains, 
and examining the causes which affect them, — in all these 
things the occupant finds continual happiness, and returns 
day after day to his work, with all the eager interest which 
a child feels in the progress of a game. God lias cons! :cted 



MOTIVES. 77 

The pleasure of invention and construction. 

the human heart so that the work of transferring and ex- 
changing the various products of the earth, from the places 
where they grow to the places where they are needed, is not 
a drudgery, — a hard, unwelcome toil, — hut an exhilarating, 
animating game, which they whose duty it is to attend to it 
may pursue with pleasure. Let it he observed that I say it 
may he pursued with pleasure. For men may, as they very 
often do, make it a work of toil and misery. They may be 
so greedy of gain as to be always on the point of encroaching 
upon other persons' rights, and thus always be in contention ; 
— or they may go so far beyond the bounds of sound judg- 
ment as to be harassed with continual anxiety and care ; — 
or they may yield to fretfulness and vexation upon every little 
disappointment or difficulty. In these and in other ways, 
they make the work which God intended should be pleasant, 
one of anxiety, toil, and suffering. But this does not affect 
the nature of his plan. 

A third individual is a mechanic, and God has so formed 
his mental powers that the work of invention and construc- 
tion is a positive and a lasting pleasure to him. He will sit in 
his solitary room till the morning dawns, planning the details 
of a machine, — held to his work by an interest which God 
has given him in it ; — and if he is industrious, and system- 
atic, and faithful, he will find day after day, continued and 
almost unalloyed happiness in managing his establishment, 
arranging his work, and in seeing one useful object after an- 
other accomplished by the exercise of his ingenuity and skill. 
Thus God is not a taskmaster, driving us to our duties by 
the force of suffering, — -he is a kind and benevolent friend, 
giving us pleasant employment and making our greatest hap- 
piness to consist in the faithful performance of it. 

It is so with all the employments of life. There may be 
some hours of fatigue, and now and then a crisis demanding 
toil of a character that we shrink from. But these are so 



78 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 



Higher enjoyments still. 



few, as only to brighten by the contrast what would be the 
happiness of a man's ordinary lot, if his daily duties were 
performed in a faithful and proper manner. For we are not 
to consider what is the actual amount of enjoyment obtained 
in the ordinary pursuits of life, but what would be the actual 
amount if men would attend to these pursuits in the manner 
which God has required ; — if they were faithful, industrious, 
moderate in their wishes, cautious in their plans, and if they 
felt that filial confidence in him which would enable them to 
cast on him all responsibility and care. 

3. God has planned human happiness of a still higher kind, 
by making the heart susceptible of love, and requiring men 
to exercise love toward one another. This union of heart by 
which he meant to have all his creatures bound together, 
would give rise to far deeper emotions of happiness than either 
of those already named, or rather it would mingle with and 
brighten these. How much greater delight will two children 
often feel in the friendship of one another, than in gazing into 
the . beautiful brook, or walking upon the shore ; or rather 
how will their happiness be increased tenfold by the opportu- 
nity of playing by the brook, or rambling upon the sea-shore 
together. There is a double enjoyment in love, — the pleas- 
ure of feeling affection, and the pleasure of being the object 
of it ; it is hard to decide which is the greatest. A man will 
sometimes neglect his family that he may increase a little 
the rapidity with which his fortune accumulates. The game 
in his counting-room interests him more than the circle at his 
fireside ;— but he makes a sad mistake to barter for the in- 
terest of such a work the far richer, deeper emotions of hap- 
piness, which he might secure by loving and being beloved. 
So men everywhere are eager to secure their own rights to 
the uttermost farthing, and consequently live in a constant 
scene of jealousy, suspicion, and angry disputes. How un- 
wisely they judge ; — for the sake of a little more land, or a 



MOTIVES. 79 

Union. The institution of the family. Its firm foundations. 

little greater influence, or a little more rapid gain, to lose the 
real, substantial, enduring happiness of peace, and harmony, 
and happy union. And all this loss is in consequence of a 
deviation from God's plan. His wish is to secure for us all 
the happiness of union. He has planned society so as to link 
men together in a thousand ways, — and that, too, by links so 
strong and so intricately fastened that we can not loosen 
them. He intended that we should be happy together. 

See how he has grouped men in families, — having laid the 
foundation of this institution so deep in the very constitution 
of man, that there has been no nation, no age, — scarcely a 
single savage tribe, that has not been drawn to the result 
which he intended. For thousands of years this institution 
has been assailed by every power which could shake it by 
violence from without, or undermine it by treachery within. 
Lust and passion have risen in rebellion against it, — Atheism 
has again and again advanced to the attack, — but it stands 
unmoved. It has been indebted to no human power for its 
defense. It has needed no defense. It stands on the firm, 
sure, everlasting foundations which God has made for it. 
Wars, famine, pestilence, and revolutions have swept over 
the face of society, carrying eveiy where confusion, terror, and 
distress ; — time has undermined and destroyed every thing 
which his tooth could touch, and all human institutions have 
thus been altered and destroyed in the lapse of ages. But 
the Family lives on : it stands firm and unshaken. It finds 
its way wherever human beings go, it survives every shock, 
and rises again unharmed, after every tempest which blows 
over the social sky. It is a contrivance for human happiness, 
and God has laid its foundations too deep and strong to be 
removed. 

And then, too, God has so planned the human heart, and 
the circumstances in which we find ourselves placed in this 
world, that men must live together in social communities 



60 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 



God's plans for preventing sin. 



He has done this with the design that mutual kindness, aid 
and affection should heighten the happiness of the whole. 
These feelings, if they existed, would smooth the path, and 
quiet the fears, and assuage the sorrows of every man, and 
more than double every earthly enjoyment. 

• 4. The benevolence of (rod shows itself most conspicuously 
in his plans for preventing the commission of sin, and for 
stopping the progress and the consequences of it, when it is 
committed. Temporary suffering, however severe, including 
all the varieties of physical evil, is nothing compared with 
the miseries of sin, — that viper whose fangs the wretched 
sufferer never can extract, and whose wounds never heal. 
All other ills human fortitude is sufficient to bear. There 
is grief: — One may follow to the grave a wife, a mother, a 
husband, a sister, a child, — many of these losses may, one 
after another, inflict their wounds ; but there is a strength 
in the human heart which bears itself up under them all. 
There is poverty and disappointment : — One may see his 
hopes blasted, his plans destroyed, and all the ills of penury 
made his inevitable portion, for the remainder of his days ; 
there is a fortitude which can bear these things. There is 
sickness and pain : — One may be a prey to disease, whose 
intense pangs goad the sufferer almost to distraction, or 
whose wearisome confinement knows no intermission for 
years ; — there is many a patient sufferer to be found, who 
can bear it all with submission. But there is no manliness, 
no fortitude in the human spirit, which can bear it up "Under 
the horrors of guilt, — past, irrecoverably past, and yet rising 
in all its vivid coloring to the soul which has incurred it, 
and overwhelming it with remorse and despair. The re- 
proaches of a conscience once thoroughly aroused, can neither 
be silenced nor borne. They come, bringing with them the 
frown of God. They bring with them recollections of the 
past, which pierce the soul with anguish, and terrific fore- 



MOTIVES. 81 

The sufferings of sin the most intolerable and incurable. 

bodings as to the future, which overwhelm it with horror. 
Wo human spirit can sustain its energies, under such a bur- 
den. 

Compared with the evil, and the attendant sufferings of 
sin, all physical ills sink into utter insignificance. The blind 
and lame wanderer, without house or home, may have a 
quiet conscience and a firm hope of happiness in heaven, 
which will take away the sting of all his sorrows ; while the 
wealthy lover of the world may spend his days in misery, 
under the galling yoke which he has brought upon himself 
by leading a life of sin. Who is it that is driven to suicide, 
by intensity of suffering ? Not the sick man, tortured and 
worn out with protracted and bodily pain ; — not the half 
starved or half frozen Indian, or gipsy ; — it is the fraudulent 
debtor, — the guilty defaulter, — the criminal exposed. Yes, 
guilt is the fountain of real suffering, — and the greatest of 
all the displays of the benevolence of God, is, his great 
original plan and his present efforts to atone for guilt and 
wipe it away. 

And besides, — as we shall see more fully as we proceed, 
sin is the source of nearly all the temporal sufferings of man- 
kind, and there can be no permanent relief from suffering 
but by reclaiming from sin. Go for instance to the house 
of a profligate and abandoned man, and when you see the 
wretched condition of his desolate and suffering family, make 
a kind and vigorous effort to relieve them. Kindle up a 
blazing fire upon the dying embers over which you found 
them shivering. Cover them with comfortable clothing, and 
replenish, with a bountiful hand, their exhausted stores. 
After a few weeks, return and visit them again. The fire 
has long since burned away, and the miserable cabin is as 
cold as before. The children are again in rags, and the 
mother is again vainly striving to bar her door against the 
devourer, hunger. 

D* 



82 THE WAY TO DO GCOD 




Suppose, again, that, 
e ~. *^—~ --- •-__ _ ^ : -■■■?. ,__ dissatisfied with so par- 

tial and temporary a 
relief, you make a sec- 
. .-.-. ond effort of a different 

nature. You seek, and 
||l||f|pf/ hy the blessing of God, 
. : ■•;. you reform the man. 

' ' ' Return again at the 

i end of a few months, 
and an industrious and 
frugal hand will be 
extended to you at the 
door, to welcome you 
to a happy family, and 
to a permanently com- 
fortable home ; and you 
may now even take provisions from his store, and fuel from 
his pile, and carry relief to others that are miserable. ' 

This is a very simple case, but it illustrates an universal 
principle which lies at the foundation of all wise and effect- 
ual benevolence. Bring men back to God and to duty, and 
their happiness is safe. Leave them in sin, and you can 
make no sensible or permanent impression upon their miseries. 
The benevolence of God is accordingly most conspicuous in 
his plans for spreading the dominion of holiness throughout 
his empire, — and especially in this world, in his efforts to 
reclaim mankind from their sins. 

Such is God's plan for promoting human happiness. It 
aims at promoting enjoyment of every kind and in every 
way. It is of a cheerful, happy character, too. The benev- 
olence which we often see exercised by men, is somber, stern 
and gloomy, — looking only at the great, serious interests of 
humanity, and perhaps dwelling too exclusively on the grreat 



MOTIVES. 83 

Character of the divine benevolence. 

futurity. The benevolence of God, while it aims first at 
these great interests, does not neglect the others. It takes 
a cheerful and pleasant view of the present condition of man, 
and sndeavors to make him happy to-day, as well as to pre- 
pare him for happiness to-morrow. It decks all nature in 
smiles, and arranges those thousand influences which speak 
for the moment to the heart, and give it a transitory happi- 
ness. God gives conscience a seat in the human soul, speak- 
ing strongly through her, of sin, of righteousness, and of a 
judgment to come, that he may make men happy in eternity; 
— he also adorns their present home with a thousand beau- 
ties, and arranges a countless variety of agreeable employ- 
ments for them, that he may make them happy here. He 
clothes the earth with a useful vegetation to supply the 
substantial wants of the creatures he has formed ; and he 
also brings out the lovely hues of the flowers, and arranges 
all the delightful influences of morning and evening, that he 
may gratify the eye, and please the fancy. He does not 
coldly and sternly pursue what we call utility alone. He 
has ornamented his whole creation most richly, to give us 
together with the substantial supply of every want, the 
charms of elegance and refinement. His plan is thus to 
communicate to our souls a cheerful, happy influence, to 
gladden them at the present moment, as well as to prepare 
them for substantial happiness to come. The Christian, 
therefore, who wishes to do good on principle, and to be the 
co-operator with God, must act in a similar way. He must 
come and give himself up to his Maker's service, and aim 
at carrying out all his plans. He must first of all strive to 
bring men back to their allegiance to him, since without this 
every other plan for promoting human happiness must fail. 
Then he must do all that he can to promote the present 
enjoyment of all God's creatures, in every way in his power 
He must love happiness on a small scale, as well as on a 



84 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Co-operation with God. 

large scale, — lie must wish that all around him should enjoy 
themselves now, as well as a thousand years hence, and a 
thousand years hence, as well as now. This benevolence 
must reign so constantly in the heart, as to give an habitual 
character to the feelings, and expression to the countenance, 
and tone to the voice, so that the presence and the influence 
of the co-operator with God, may speak in the same language 
to all around him, which the expression of the face of nature 
so plainly conveys to the heart that is reconciled and forgiven, 
and feels that its Maker is really its Friend. 

This, then, my reader, is the work which you must do, if 
you wish to co-operate with God. These are the objects 
which you must aim at, — not occasionally, — not now and 
then merely, when some details of suffering obtrude them- 
selves upon your mind, and awaken a temporary feeling, — but 
steadily, constantly, unweariedly, as the great business of life. 
Your own happiness will thus indeed be much promoted ; 
your aim, however, in pursuing these objects must not be 
your own happiness, but the accomplishment of the objects 
themselves, — extending the reign of holiness, and fulfilling 
your duty as a grateful and obedient child of God. 



OURSELVES. 85 



Personal happiness. 



CHAPTER III. 

OURSELVES. 
" A wounded spirit, who can bear." 

The reader may perhaps be surprised to find in a work on 
doing good, that one of the first chapters of practical direc- 
tions is devoted to self. But our duties in respect to the pro- 
motion of our own happiness, are very often greatly neglected. 
There is selfishness enough in the world, no doubt, — and 
eager desires to promote one's own interests in respect to 
property, and rights, and influence, and power, — but there 
is very little sober, judicious, steady effort to secure personal 
happiness. 

And yet it is plainly a duty to do this. If the happiness 
of the whole community is desirable, then is, of course, the 
happiness of every individual who is a member of it. And 
each one who aims at promoting universal enjoyment, must 
take especial care to secure his own. While he feels that 
his own enjoyment is of no more importance than that of 
every other individual, he must also remember that it is of 
no less. In fact, his desire to secure the happiness of others, 
is actually regulated in the Savior's law, by the measure of 
his interest in his own. 

And here I ought to point out to my young readers a dis- 
tinction, which, though simply metaphysical in its character, 
is very important to a full understanding of this subject. It 
is often said that all men are pursuing happiness, and that 



8b THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 



Love of fame or of powor distinct from love of happinoss. 

they must do so, by the very constitution and law of their 
nature, — that they may mistake the mode, as they often do. 
but that there is no want of disposition to seek it. 

Now it will appear, on a more attentive consideration of 
human nature, that all men are not pursuing happiness 
They have other objects which they pursue as an end substi- 
tuted in the place of happiness, and not as means for obtain- 
ing happiness. For example, a man in political life is press- 
ing forward, and making every effort to obtain a certain 
place of influence. It is not, however, from any calculation 
which he has made that this is the way to find happiness. 
He will tell you, if you ask him, that he has never enjoyed 
any happiness since he entered the scene of strife, hatred, and 
war, in which he is involved, and that he never expects to 
find any till he leaves it. Why then, you ask, does he not 
abandon the ground ? Because there is, in the very consti- 
tution of his soul, a thirst for poiver and. fame, as well as a 
thirst for happiness, and circumstances have so inflamed and 
excited the one, that he scarcely heeds the other. He presses 
forward in his course, because he is ambitions, not because 
he wishes to be happy ; that is, he seeks political elevation 
on its own account, — as an end, — he feels a thirst for it, 
which thirst can be slaked in no other way than by the at- 
tainment of the particular thing that he seeks. It is true 
that there is a kind of pleasure in indulging this and all the 
other simple propensities of the human heart : but it is not 
the anticipation of this pleasure which carries a man onward 
The mind rests or reposes on the power, or the fame, as its 
ultimate end, — as a good in itself, — not as a means merely 
of securing happiness. 

Thus, so far from its being true that we are all seeking 
happiness, there is a great number and variety of objects 
which we seek, each of which is felt by the heart to be a 
good in itself, and is sought on its own account. Sometimes 



OURSELVES. 87 

Love of happiness often overpowered. 

we distinctly understand that the path which we are taking 
is leading us actually away from happiness, and yet we will 
press on in it. How frequently does this take place in refer- 
ence to some besetting sin. We press on to the committing 
of it, conscious, all the time, that we are only making misery 
for ourselves. It is not in such a ease that under the influ- 
ence of a hallucination, we think that sin is a mean?, of hap- 
piness, but that under the dominion of one of the original and 
simple impulses of our nature, we love sin rather than hap- 
piness. Just as a hungry man eats, not under the influence 
of a calculation that food is a necessary means of preserving 
life, but impelled by an instinct of nature, resting on the food 
as its ultimate object. He will even, when, in a starving 
condition, he comes upon an unexpected supply, obey this 
impulse to such a degree, as to destroy the very life which he 
ought to endeavor to save ; and that, too, when he is warned 
that this will be the effect. He does not mistake the way 
to preserve his life, — but the cravings of starvation, demand 
food so loudly as to overpower even the love of life.* 

So the love for happiness is overpowered by the tumultorv 
clamor of the crowd of ungodly lusts and passions which fill 
the human bosom. Men are employed eagerly, indefati- 
gably, in making money, — not for the sake of happiness, but 
for the sake of the money. The mind reposes upon possession 
as the good, — the ultimate end which it seeks. Instead of 

* If any of my readers entertain views of the human mind which 
lead them to maintain, that by a careful analysis, we shall find that 
obedience to these impulses is, in fact, only one of the forms which love 
of happiness assumes, they must not consider these remarks as intended 
to conflict with that theory at all. I use the phrase, " love of happi- 
ness," in its ordinary popular signification ; — as this work is designed 
solely for popular use ; and for all popular and practical purposes, there 
is a wide distinction between the rational search for happiness, and 
blind obedience to the instincts and impulses of nature, as all will ad- 
mit, whatever may be their metaphysical theories. 



88 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

The merchants. Happy rather than rich. Questions to the reader 

desiring happiness, and planning with reference to the attain- 
ment of it, the thought of happiness, perhaps, never comef 
into the mind from one end of the year to the other. Ask a 
hundred merchants whether the way which they have 
adopted for the management of their business is the best, that 
is, the most profitable way, and they will all be ready with 
an answer ; they will show you that they have looked at 
that subject in every aspect of it, and that they are pursuing 
their plans with the deliberate expectation that they are the 
best which they can form. But ask them whether their 
plans of life are those which they think best adapted to se- 
cure their highest happiness, and they will stare, at hearing 
your question, in vacant surprise. If they give any answer, 
it will be a mechanical one, — or if they really look at the 
question, in order to give an honest reply, ninety of them will 
see that it is a question which they never have considered. 
They have been living on from year to year, obeying certain 
impulses, but never forming any serious plans for happiness, 
or even taking the subject at all into account. 

"He never will be very rich," said a gentleman describ- 
ing a certain Christian merchant, " because he had rather 
be happy than rich." It was a philosophical distinction, 
and it designated a state of mind which is very often 
found among those who have the opportunity of making a 
fortune. 

You have, therefore, my reader, two questions to ask your- 
self in reference to the subject of this chapter. First, are 
you happy now ? Consider and answer this question under- 
standingly. Is your mind at peace, and does the current of 
time, as it passes on, bring hours of enjoyment to you, day 
after day ? Look back to the past week ; think of the feel- 
ings with which you have engaged in your duties ; call to 
mind your employments, your connections with others, youl 
daily routine of duty, and the manner in which you have 



OURSELVES. 8 J 



Thorough repentance and conversion. 



performed it ; — and then, ask yourself the question whether 
you are happy. Or is there something wrong ? Is there 
a corroding, restless uneasiness, — an unsettled, anxious mind, 
such that your days pass on without much real enjoyment ? 

The second question is whether you tvish for happiness, 
and are willing to plan for it. Or is your heart set upon 
making money, or gaining fame, or gratifying appetite or 
passion ? These impulses will lead you in a very different 
path from that which conducts to happiness, and it is very 
important that you should decide distinctly which you will 
pursue. If it is happiness that you really wish for, and if, 
for the sake of securing it, you are willing to give up what 
is inconsistent with it, — sin, appetite, covetousness, ambition, 
passion, and every thing else which comes in its way, you may 
easily, with God's blessing, accomplish your desire. Here 
follow some rules. 

1. See that you make your peace with God thoroughly. 
This book, being a continuation of the Young Christian and 
Corner-Stone, takes for granted that the reader has had fully 
explained to him the necessity and the nature of repentance 
and conversion. I shall not now, therefore, repeat what has 
already been said on those subjects. Wo person can be happy 
who does not confess and forsake his sins, and make peace 
with God ; — that is very plain, — and we are altogether too 
far on in the course of our instruction to the Young Christian, 
to urge it here. It is one of the elements which we have 
gone by. The point to be urged here, is not merely that you 
must confess and forsake sin in order to enjoy peace and hap- 
piness, but that you must do it thoroughly, and frequently, 
so as to keep at all times in a state of perfect peace with 
God. 

The religious history of the soul is commonly this. A 
young man when first convicted of sin, and brought to heart- 
repentance, feels so overwhelmed with a sense of the enormity 



90 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

A common caso. Incipient neglect of prayer. Backsliding. 

of his guilt, ami his heart is so full of love and gratitude to 
God, that it seems to him that he can never wander again. 
Sin seems to have lost all her power. Temptation is robbed 
of all her alluring colors, and stands exposed before him, the 
object of his utter aversion. He wonders that he could have 
sinned as he has done, and is sure that he can never do so 
again. 

But sin is wounded, not destroyed. The evil plant is cut 
down, but not eradicated. The roots remain, and in a few 
days or weeks, when the excitement of his first ardor is over, 
they begin, — slowly, — to sprout again. Whatever his great 
besetting sins have been, they appear again, disguised, how- 
ever, by assuming a modified form, and intermingled with 
other and better plants in the garden of his heart, — so that 
he does not notice them. He is busy about something else, 
and in the mean time the noxious weeds grow on, but grow 
so gradually, that though he at last begins to see them, they 
do not startle him. He gets accustomed to them, before he 
observes them. 

By and by he finds himself indulging sin, and perhaps 
committing overt acts which imply that he has made a very 
considerable progress in his downward road. Some Satur- 
day night as he is retiring to rest, he thinks, just as his 
faculties are sinking into slumber, that he has, to all intents 
and purposes, actually neglected secret prayer during the 
whole week. His moral sensibilities are however so much 
blunted, that he does not feel the guilt of this, but still he 
recollects how often he has heard the danger of this sin pointed 
out, and perhaps how often and how emphatically he has 
himself pointed it out, — and he feels a moment's alarm. 
But it is a very superficial alarm ; he commences a prayer, 
but before he has framed many of his petitions, his growing 
drowsiness overpowers both conscience and reason, and he 
sinks to sleep. The only effect of this momentary alarm is, 



OURSELVES. 91 



The usual steps. Necessity of entire reconciliation with God. 

not to make him return to his duty the next week, but omy 
to feel a little more uneasy in the neglect of it. 

Or perhaps his besetting sin is pride, or sensuality, — the 
indulgence of some appetite, or animal passion, — or world 
liness. or covetousness ; and he finds after a time, that these 
sins, though he hoped that they were crucified and slain, are 
still existing in all their strength. They have returned, 
however, in the manner already explained, so gradually, 
that he has become familiar with their dominion again. 
They have fastened their chains upon him by slow degrees, 
and he has gradually become accustomed to their thraldom, 
so that he does not arouse himself to any vigorous effort to 
escape ; he only perceives the danger of his condition just 
often enough, and just distinctly enough, to make him un- 
easy and unhappy. God withdraws from him, and hides his 
face. His prayers are not heard. He knows they are not 
heard. _ He perhaps keeps up the form, but he feels guilty 
and condemned all the time. Still all that he does, in the 
way of repentance and return, is to say now and then, in a 
moment of more "serious reflection than usual, "I am wan- 
dering sadly from God : I must return. I am destroying my 
peace and happiness, and endangering my soul."- Then he 
sinks again into his lethargy. 

Now what I mean to say to the reader, in respect to thia 
part of my subject, is this. If you wish to be happy, — if 
you wish to have any real peace, any steady, and substantial 
enjoyment, you must make up your mind decidedly, whether 
you will be the child of God, or not. If you expect him to 
take you under his care, you must be his, really, honestly, 
thoroughly, — not merely in pretense and in form. If you 
find, therefore, in looking into your heart, that you are not 
happy, it is very probable that the cause may be, that you 
are not really and fully at peace with God. You have only 
declared a truce, and then recommenced hostilities. Of course. 



92 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Order in worldly affairs. Effects of system. 

you can not expect to enjoy a quiet and a happy heart. You 
may depend upon it, that your days must be days of uneasiness 
and misery, until you come and make yourself wholly the 
Lord's. To secure your happiness, then, your first duty is 
most faithfully and thoroughly to examine your spiritual 
condition, — to confess and to crucify your dearest sins, and 
casting yourself upon the merits and atonement of your 
Savior, to make a complete and lasting peace with God. 
Then you will he prepared to go on to the next step. 

2. And the next step, in the order of importance, is to see 
that all your worldly affairs are in order. The magic power 
of system in facilitating effort has often been praised, hut it 
has, if possible, a still greater power to promote happiness. 
People talk about the cares of business, the perplexities of 
their daily lot, the endless intricacies in which they find 
themselves involved. But they are, nine out of ten of them, 
the cares of mismanagement, — the perplexities and the in- 
tricacies of confusion. The burdens of human life are, prob- 
ably, upon the average, doubled, and sometimes rendered ten- 
fold greater than they otherwise would be by the want of 
regularity and system. The proof of this is, that when a 
man, either from some native peculiarity of mind, or the 
effect of early education, acquires the habit of order and 
method, he can accomplish more than twice as much as ordi- 
nary men, — and of all the men in the community, he is the 
most likely never to be in a hurry, — but always to be calm 
and quiet, and to have leisure for any new and sudden call. 
Now, if he can do twice as much, with no more care and 
hurry, it is plain that he could perform the ordinary work of 
man with a far more quiet and peaceful mind. This is un- 
questionable, ^he facts are unquestionable, and the infer- 
ence to be drawn from them is immediate and irresistible. 

But let us look more particularly at the manner in which 
irregularity and confusion, in the management of worldly 



OURSELVES. 93 

History of James. His morning's duties. Procrastination. 

business, affects the peace and happiness of the heart. There 
are few persons so correct in this respect, that they will not 
find a testimony within them to the truth of what I shall 
say. We will begin with a very simple case 

James is a school-boy. His affairs, though not quite so 
intrinsically extensive and important as those of an East 
India merchant, are still important to him. He has his 
business, his cares, his disappointments ; — and the conditions 
of success and happiness are the same with him as with all 
mankind. We will, therefore, take his case as the basis of 
our illustration, as we hope this chapter will be read by 
many a school-boy, and the imagination of the man can more 
easily descend to the school-boy's scene of labor, than the 
boy's ascend to that of the man. 

James, then, as I have said, is a school-boy, and his first 
duty in the morning, — I speak only of his worldly duties 
here, — is to rise at six o'clock, and make the fires in his 
father's house. James hears the clock strike six, — but it is 
cold, and he shrinks from his morning's task, so he lies still, 
postponing the necessary effort ; his mind, all the time dwell- 
ing upon it and dreading it, and his conscience goading and 
worrying him with the thought that he is doing wrong 
Thus pass fifteen minutes very wretchedly. The mistake 
which he makes, is in imagining that of the two evils, a 
little sensation of cold on his face and limbs, while dressing, 
and on the other hand, the corroding tooth of a disturbed 
conscience, gnawing within, — the former is the greatest. 
So he quietly waits, suffering the latter for fifteen or twenty 
minutes, until the lapse of time makes it too intolerable to 
be borne any longer, and then he slowly forces himself out 
of his bed ; when he finds, — sagacious boy, — that he has got 
still to bear the other evil, after all. Instead of taking the 
least of the two evils, he has taken both, and the bitterest 



94 



THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 



Its folly. 



James's sufferings. 



first. Many of my readers will acquit themselves of James's 
folly. But be not in haste. Do you never in any way pro- 
crastinate duty ? Look over your mental memorandum, and 
see if there is nothing upon it that you ought to do, hut which 
you have been putting off, and putting off, because you have 
been dreading it. If so, you are James completely. He 
who procrastinates duty which he knows at last must be 
done, always does, of two evils, choose both, beginning with 
the bitterest portion. 

I said that James had chosen two evils. He has, in fact, 
chosen three, for the recollection of this neglect of duty, or 
rather the impression which it has made, will continue all 
the morning. For hours, there will be a settled uneasiness in 
his mind, whose cause and origin he may not distinctly under- 
stand, though he might find it, if he would search for it. He 
feels restless and miserable, though he knows not exactly why. 

When James comes 
down to his work, he 
finds no proper prep- 
aration made. The 
wood, which ought to 
have been carefully 
prepared the evening 
before, is out under the 
snow. The fire has 
gone out, and his tin- 
der-box he can not 
find. He has no place 
for it, and of course he 
has to search for it at 
random. When he 
finds it, the matches 
are gone, the flint is 
worn out. and only a 




OURSELVES. 95 

Shiftlessness ;— disorder ;— confusion ;— and misery. 

few shreds of tinder remain. Perplexed and irritated at the 
box, instead of being penitent for his own sinful negligence, 
he toils for a long time, and at last meets with partial suc- 
cess in kindling his morning fires, an hour after the proper 
time. The family, however, do not distinctly call him to 
account for his negligence, for the family which produces 
such a character, will generally he itself as shiftless as he. 
Still, though he expects to sustain no immediate accounta- 
bility, he feels uneasy and restless, especially as he finds that 
his postponed and neglected morning's work is encroaching 
upon the time that he had allotted to his morning's lesson. 

For James is, as I have already said, a school-boy, and the 
lesson which he is to be called upon to recite, as soon as he 
enters school in the morning, he had postponed from the 
evening before, when it ought to have been studied, to the 
half-hour after breakfast, which, without any reason, he 
expected that he should find available. Acting without 
plan and without calculation, he is, of course, disappointed, 
and when he rises from his breakfast table, he seems sur- 
prised to find that it is time for school to begin. He hurries 
away to make his preparations, — to find his books, and his 
hat, and his coat, — for every morning they have to be found. 
He goes about the house with chafed feelings, scowling brow 
and fretful tone, displeased with every body and every thing, 
except the proper object of displeasure, — himself. 

He hurries to school. It is a bright and beautiful winter 
morning, and every thing external tends to calm the mind 
to peaceful happiness, or to awaken emotions of joy. But 
James can not be happy. Even if he should now begin to 
be faithful in duty, it would be many hours before the turbu- 
lent sea of commotion which he has raised among the moral 
feelings of his heart would subside. He walks along, rest- 
less, anxious, — conscience gnawing upon him, — unhappy, 
he knows not why,— -and looking away from himsolf, at the 



9G THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

James's character. Settled and permanent mnhappiness. The application. 

external circumstances in which he is placed, as the sources 
of his sufferings, instead of finding their true cause within. 

I need not follow him through the day. Every one will 
see, that with such hahits, he must be miserable. And yet 
James is not a bad boy, in the common sense of the word. 
He has no vices. He will not steal. He will not lie. He 
loves his father and mother, and never directly disobeys them, 
or does any thing intentionally to give them pain. And 
perhaps my readers will be much surprised to have me tell 
them that he is a Christian. He is, nevertheless, a sincere 
Christian. He has repented of his sins, and made his peace 
with God, and lives in the daily habit of communion with 
God. In his hours of retirement and prayer, he experiences 
many seasons of high enjoyment, — and yet generally he leads 
a very wretched life. A constant, wearing, irritating un- 
easiness corrodes his inmost soul, he knows not why or where- 
fore. In fact, he seldom inquires why. He has borne it so 
long and so constantly, that he has no idea that serenity, 
peace of mind, and steady happiness, is within the reach of 
the human soul, in this world. Thus he goes on, accom- 
plishing very little, and suffering a great deal ; and the 
reader must remember that it is the last, — the suffering, — 
that we are now considering ; for our object, in this chapter, 
is, not to show how want of system, and regularity, and 
faithfulness, interferes with success in life, but how it annihi- 
lates happiness. 

Very many of my readers now will probably find, by care- 
ful examination of themselves, that though their circum- 
stances and condition may be totally different from those of 
James, their characters are substantially like his. Disorder, 
irregularity, and perhaps confusion, reign in your affairs. 
Instead of acting on a general plan, having your business 
well arranged, your accounts settled, your work in advance, 
—you act from impulse, and temporary necessity. Instead 



OURSELVES. 97 



Necessary condition of happiness. The master of a family. 

of looking forward and foreseeing duty and providing for its 
claims, regularly and methodically, you wait until it forces 
itself upon you, and then waste your time and your spirits 
in hesitating on the question, which of two things, both appa- 
rently duty, you shall do ; or by endeavoring to provide, by 
temporary shifts, for unexpected emergencies, which need 
not have been unexpected or unprovided for. You neglect or 
postpone unpleasant duties, leaving them to hang as a burden 
upon your mind, marring your peace and happiness, until at 
length you are forced to attend to them, not, however, until 
some new neglect or postponement is ready to supply their 
place by a new thorn of irritation in your side. 

I say then that the second great rule for the securing of 
your own personal happiness, is, to reduce all your worldly 
business, your affairs, your property, your domains, your em- 
ployments, your pleasures, — reduce every thing to order. 
Without it, you can not have a peaceful mind, and of course, 
can not be happy. But I must be more particular in de- 
scribing what I mean. For as the book is designed for prac- 
tical usefulness, I may often properly descend from the dig- 
nity of general moral instruction, to minute and specific de- 
tails of duty. 

Suppose, then, you are the master of a family. Now un- 
less your household affairs are all well arranged, and con- 
ducted methodically, they will be a source of uneasiness to 
you. A gate hanging by one hinge, or a broken latch, or a 
caster off of a piece of furniture, are mere trifles in them- 
selves ; and so is the point of a thorn, broken off in your hand, 
and one is just such a sort of trifle as the other. You will 
find, probably, if you possess the difficult art of analyzing 
your own feelings, that a very large portion of the uncom- 
fortable feelings, which you experience during those hours 
which you spend at home, — for I suppose, of course, that you 
are a Christian, and have no serious anxieties about eternity, 
E 



THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 



Regulation. The mistress. Drawers and closets. 

— arise from just such things. Now make thorough work of 
it, and remove them all. Arouse your moral resolution, and 
take hold at once. Go through your premises, and see that 
every thing is as it ought to be. Whenever you find any 
difficulty, — any thing that produces friction and disturbance, 
stop till you have devised and applied the best remedy you 
can. See that things have their places, and that they keep 
them. See, too, that duties and employments have their times, 
and that they keep them. Do this kindly, gently, but firmly. 
Interest others in the work of co-operating with you in the 
change, and you will find that by a few hours' attention to 
this single field of labor — hours, too, which may perhaps be 
taken from several successive days, — you will remove a mass 
of causes of anxiety, and sources of uneasiness and mental 
friction, which you had no idea existed. 

Perhaps you are the mistress of a family ; — and sometimes 
you feel dejected and sad, you know not why. It is very 
probable that it may be because you are unsystematic and 
irregular in your sphere of duty. Is your house in order ? 
Look around and see. Look into your drawers, your closets, 
your bureaus, and imagine that a stranger of distinction, 
whose good opinion you were desirous of securing, is making 
the examination with you. You may perhaps think it 
strange, that such a subject as order in drawers and closets, 
should be introduced into a book of religious instruction. 
But do you never consider, when you. tell your child that, 
though he may conceal his faults from the eyes of man, 
he can not conceal thercr from the eye of God, — that the 
same God sees very distinctly, all that you would so studious- 
ly conceal from your visitors and your friends ? Or do you 
think that you are not responsible, for the manner in which 
you arrange and manage the affairs of your household ; — that 
domain, which God has so peculiarly confided to you ; or im- 
agine, when you attempt to conceal the evidences of untidi- 



OURSELVES. 99 

Order. Review and arrangement of duties. I eace of mind. 

ness or confusion from the eyes of men, that any thing will 
do to satisfy God ? Are his ideas of order and method less 
high, do you suppose, than those of your neighbors, that you 
should fear their scrutiny more than his ? 

Put your house in order. Not merely in respect to its 
arrangement, hut in respect to all your duties, in the ad- 
ministration of your sacred trust. Consider deliberately, in 
your hours of retirement, what your duties are, and arrange 
them. See that you devote a proper portion of time to them 
all. Ought you to ctdtivate the morals of your children ? 
Then do it regularly, systematically ; have a plan for it. 
Ought you to cultivate your own mind ? Then make pro- 
vision for this duty. Ought you to devote any portion of 
your time to the occupations and pleasures of social inter- 
course ? If so, understand distinctly that it is your duty, and 
consider how far it is your duty : and make specific provision 
for it. I do not mean that you are to mark out the hours of 
your day, and allot to every one its prescribed task, as a 
school-boy may very properly do. This, I well know, would 
be impossible, were you to attempt it, and would be unwise, 
were it possible. It may, and in fact it ought to be done, in 
respect to those duties which form a part of the daily routine 
of employment, but in regard to others, it is neither possible 
nor wise. What I mean, is, that the various occupations 
which have a claim upon you, should all be examined, and 
that that portion which you ought to undertake, should be 
marked out and well defined. "What comes within these 
limits will be duty. Reduce, then, to some system and 
method, what you ought to do, and you may proceed with 
your daily avocations with a quiet and happy heart. With- 
out it, you will always be restless and uneasy. As you walk 
about your house, you will continual, y find objects to irritato 
and vex you. Your various duties will jostle one another in 
their rush upon you, and in their disputes for your attention ; 



100 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Advice to a school-boy. Desks, drawers, implements, books. 

and the time for attending to all of them will glide by, while 
you are hearing their conflicting claims. Thus many hours 
of every day will be passed in useless indecision, bringing 
restless uneasiness to the heart so often, and continuing it so 
long, that at length this will become its settled and perma- 
nent character. You try, you think, to be faitbful, — you 
certainly are hurried and busy enough, and you indulge your- 
self in but little real recreation. Still you are not success- 
ful. Life does not pass smoothly with you. You do not ac- 
complish what you wish, and what you see some others do 
accomplish. You are wretched, and yet you do not know 
why. 

But perhaps my reader is a school-boy, and inquires how 
these principles apply to his case. Put all your business in 
order too. Look over your affairs, and consider what your 
duties and employments ought to be, and see that all are 
properly arranged and systematized. Have a place, and see 
too that it is the best place, for your hat, your coat, your sled, 
your books, — all your property of every kind. Consider what 
your daily work at home is, — for every boy ought to have 
some daily responsibility at home, — and see whether you per- 
form this in the best way. Make regular and proper prep- 
arations for it. Have your tools and implements in good 
order, and arranged in the most convenient places. See that 
you do all your work hi season, that is, a little before the sea- 
son, so as never to be hurried, and never to feel that you are 
behindhand. See that your desk in school is in good order. 
— and every thing in it arranged in the most convenient way 
for use, and do the same with your shelves and drawers at 
home ; — so that you could go in the dark, and find any 
article in your possession, by putting your hand where it 
might to be. 

If, now, your habits are, in these respects, as irregular and 
disorderly as those of most boys, it will require some iime, 






OURSELVES. 101 

The man of business. Unsettled accounts ; unfinished plans. 

and not a little faithful, vigorous effort, to accomplish such a 
thorough revolution as is essential to your happiness. But 
you may be assured that such a revolution is essential. 
While every thing is in confusion, — your hooks lost, your 
habits irregular, and your duties performed without method 
and system, only as they are forced upon your attention, you 
never can be happy. Unpleasant associations will be con- 
nected with all you see. Almost every object which meets 
your eye, at school or at home, will remind you of your re- 
missness or neglect, — and of the disordered and shiftless con- 
dition of all your affairs. And though you may not distinctly 
think of the cause, you will find really arising from this 
.cause, a continued and incessant uneasiness of mind, which 
will follow you everywhere, and effectually destroy your 
happiness. 

So whatever may be the reader's situation and condition 
in life, if he wishes to be happy, let him regulate his affairs. 
If you have uncertain, unsettled accounts open, — which you 
have been dreading to examine, go and explore the cases 
thoroughly and have them closed. If there have been duties 
neglected, which have still been lying like a weight upon 
your mind, go and perform them at once. If there are plans 
which you have been intending to accomplish, but which you 
have been postponing and postponing, thinking of them from 
time to time, and saying to yourself you must attend to them, 
— summon your resolution, and carry them at once into effect, 
or else determine to abandon them, and dismiss them from 
your thoughts. The mind of a young and ardent man be- 
comes loaded with crude, half-formed designs, unfinished 
plans, and duties postponed. He is like a child unaccustomed 
to the world, who takes a walk on a pleasant summer's day. 
Every object seems valuable, and he picks up a pebble here, 
and a stick there, and gathers a load of great flowers in this 
place and that, until he becomes so encumbered with his 



102 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Selection nf objects. Expenses and pecuniary liabilities. 

treasures that he can hardly go on. They are constantly 
slipping and dropping from his hands, and become a source 
of perplexity and anxiety to him, because he can not retain 
them all. So with us. Every plan which reason forms or 
imagination paints, we think we must execute ; but after 
having made a beginning, a new project enters our heads, 
which we are equally eager to secure, and thus in a short 
time we become encumbered with a mass of intellectual lum- 
ber, which we can not carry, and are unwilling to leave. 
Now look over all these things, — consider what you can and 
will execute, and take hold of the execution of them now. 
Abandon the rest, so that you may move forward with a mind 
free and untrammeled. It is the only way by which you can 
enjoy any peace or serenity of mind, — and without peace and 
serenity there can be no happiness. 

This, then, is the second great rule for securing personal 
happiness. Look over your affairs, and arrange and method- 
ize every thing. Define in your own mind what you have 
to do, and dismiss every thing else. Take time for reflec- 
tion, and plan all your work so as to go on smoothly, quietly, 
and in season, so that the mind may be ahead of all its duties, 
choosing its own way, and going forward quietly and in 
peace. 

There is one point in connection with this subject of the 
management of worldly affairs, which ought not to be passed 
by, and which is yet an indispensable condition of human 
happiness. I mean the duty of every man to bring his ex- 
penses and his pecuniary liabilities fairly within his control. 
There are some cases of a peculiar character, and some occa- 
sional emergencies, perhaps, in the life of every man which 
constitute exceptions ; but this is the general rule. 

The plentifulness of money depends upon its relation to 
our expenditures. An English nobleman, with an annual in- 
come of £50,000, may be pressed for money, and be harassed 



OURSELVES. 103 

Pecuniary embarrassment. Way to avoid. 

by it to such, a degree as to make life a burden ; while an 
Irish laborer on a railroad in New England, with eighty 
cents a day in the dead of winter, may have a plentiful sup- 
ply Reduce, then, your expenditures, and your style of liv- 
ing, and your business too, so far below your pecuniary 
means, that you may have money in plenty. There is, per- 
haps, nothing which so grinds the human soul, and produces 
such an insupportable burden of wretchedness and despond- 
ency, as pecuniary pressure. Nothing more frequently drives 
men to suicide. And there is, perhaps, no danger to which 
men in an active and enterprising community are more ex- 
posed. Almost all are eagerly reaching forward to a station 
in life a little above what they can well afford, or struggling 
to do a business a little more extensive than they have capi- 
tal or steady credit for ; and thus they keep all through life 
just above their means ; — and just above, no matter by how 
small an excess, is inevitable misery. 

Be sure, then, if your aim is happiness, to bring down at 
all hazards your style of living, and your responsibilities of 
business, to such a point that you shall easily be able to 
reach it. Do this, I say, at all hazards. If you can not 
have money enough for your purposes, in a house with two 
rooms, take a house with one. It is your only chance for 
happiness. For there is such a thing as happiness in a single 
room, with plain furniture and simple fare ; but there is no 
such thing as happiness with responsibilities which can not 
be met, and debts increasing, without any prospect of their 
discharge. If your object is gentility, or the credit of belong 
ing to good society, — or the most rapid accumulation of prop- 
erty, and you are willing to sacrifice happiness for it, I 
might, perhaps, give you different advice. But if your object 
is happiness, this is the only way. 

The principles which we have thus far laid down as the 
means of attaining personal happiness, relate to our duties in 



104 THE "WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Contentions. The Christian principle. Conflicting claims. 

respect, more particularly, to ourselves. Our happiness will 
depend very much also upon the state of our relations with 
others. There are certain principles which must regulate 
these relations, or we can not enjoy peace and happiness. 
The other "beings with whom we have chiefly to do, are our 
fellow-men and God, and hy our feelings and conduct toward 
both we often mar and poison our own enjoyment. 

1. By contentions with the injustice and selfishness of 
men ; and, 

2. By struggling and repining against the Providence of 
God. 

We must devote a few pages to each of these subjects. 

1. Contentions with men. 

Christianity makes the human soul unyielding, uncompro- 
mising, firm even unto death, in a matter of principle or 
duty ; but the very reverse in all respects in a matter of per- 
sonal interest. Some Christians, however, are as strenuous 
in maintaining every tittle of their rights, from their neighbors 
and business connections, as the most hard-hearted, usurious 
creditor is, in exacting from his debtor the uttermost farthing 
due. It is true that they endeavor to draw the line correctly 
between their neighbors' interests and their own, but then 
they take their stand upon this line with the determination 
of a soldier, and resolve that as they will not themselves en- 
croach, so they will not submit to encroachment. 

Now this principle might not lead to any difficulty in a 
world not fallen, but it is not safe to adopt it here. Inter- 
mingled as are all the various interests of the community, 
and biased as every man's view is, in respect to his own, it is 
impossible to ascertain where the exact boundaries are which 
separate " the mine" from " the thine." The vision ia 
affected by the disordered state of the moral affections, so 
that men see differently even what they wish to see as it is ; 
and if all men are therefore to adopt it as a principle, that 



OURSELVES. 105 

Non-resistance. Isaac's principle. 

they will adhere firmly to every thing which they honestly 
believe to be their right, they must be continually coming 
'nto collision with one another. 

Thus any man who will look fairly at the condition of hu- 
man nature, will see the necessity of mutual forbearance and 
concession. But all doubt in respect to duty on this subject 
is put at rest hy our Savior's explicit instructions. Let those 
of my readers who are accustomed to look upon firmness in 
the maintenance of their own rights, as a duty, consider the 
following words of our Savior, and ask what they mean. 

" I say unto you, that ye resist not evil ; but whosoever 
shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other 
also. And if any man will sue thee at the law, and take 
away thy coat, let him have thy cloak also. And whosoever 
shall compel thee to go a mile, go with him twain." 

Are these now really the words of Jesus Christ ? And, if 
so, what do they mean ? I admit, that they are figurative. 
I admit, also, that the sentiment which they convey is very 
strongly expressed. The more strongly, probably, in order 
that it might stand in more striking contrast with the general 
sentiment prevailing at that day, which our Savior was 
endeavoring to correct. Still, they must have a meaning ; 
they must be intended to convey a sentiment, and it is utter- 
ly impossible to derive any meaning from language, unless 
the speaker intended here to teach, that his followers must 
not be engaged in quarrels to maintain their own personal 
interests and rights. So far, at least, the meaning of the 
passage is clear ; and Christians ought to obey the precept. 
If there is a quarrel about the well which you have dug, go, 
like Isaac, and dig another ; and if this becomes the subject 
of contention, go and dig a third. Isaac's father, too, under- 
stood the Christian way of settling disputes. " You may 
take the left hand, and I will take the right, or you may 



106 THE WAY TO DO GOOD 

Effects of opposition and contention. Defonsele*ones8. 

take the right hand, and I will take the left. Is not the 
whole land before thee ?" 

But, says some reader, accustomed to the doctrine and 
practice of self-defense, such a principle will leave every man 
in the state of the most complete exposure to every species 
of injustice and oppression ; and will make him a prey to the 
passions and the avarice of a selfish world. 

To which I answer, that the principle is a principle of 
Jesus Christ's, — plain, unquestionable ; and, if any man 
thinks that some other principle is a better and safer one for 
men to adopt, there is a difference of opinion on the point, 
between him and his Master ; and though he is perfectly at 
liberty to pursue his own course, if he chooses, he can not 
pursue it, and yet pretend to be a follower of the Savior. 

But it is not true that this principle is not a safe one to be 
followed. Jesus Christ understood human nature, and the 
influence and operation of moral causes, better than the 
shrewd, suspicious, watchful, and ardent defender of his 
rights. Any intelligent observer of facts will soon come to 
the conclusion, that he who will not quarrel for his rights, 
has his rights most respected, as he who is unarmed and will 
not fight, is safest from the hand of violence, — and every 
one who really understands human nature, will see that 
this always must be so. 

The safety of a man who will not quarrel for his personal 
rights, results from two causes. First, the course which he 
pursues disarms his enemies. Contentions and quarrels ac- 
quire nearly all their acrimony from the influence which 
each combatant exerts upon the other, by their mutual and 
reciprocal hostility. Opposition inflames and increases the 
ardor and the fierceness of the attack. The conscience of 
the aggressor is really quieted a little by the thought that an 
antagonist is prepared for defense. The most blood-thirsty 
duelist could not level his pistol, unless liis enemy held a 



OURSELVES. 107 

An objection. The question of war. 



pistol too. He could not do it; and almost universally, the 
violent and the oppressive will be disarmed by the quietness, 
and peacefulness of the true Christian spirit. The worst 
men will feel the influence of it ; as the Indian who stood 
with his tomahawk over the defenseless missionary, sleeping 
in his wigwam, said, after gazing upon him in wonder, at 
his voluntary exposure, "Why should I kill him ?" So, in 
commanding men to live in peace, — not to resist evil, — or 
quarrel for their rights, Jesus Christ showed, that he under- 
stood better than we generally do, the secret springs of 
human action, and the principles by which human nature is 
controlled.* 

The minds of such pf my readers as are not quite ready 
to adopt these views, have, undoubtedly, been busy, while 
reading these paragraphs, in calling up cases where those 
who were known not to contend, and who were, consequent- 
ly, in the attitude of the unarmed and the defenseless, have 
suffered, and suffered severely. 

They will say that defenselessness is not always safety, — 
that, though the duelist will not fire upon an unarmed man, 
yet the assassin will, and that the peaceful and the unoffend- 
ing are often thus a prey to secret injustice or oppression. 
This is true, no doubt. And the question is not, how can a 

* We do not mean to apply these remarks to the forcible execution 
of the laws, by the proper authorities, nor to the question of defensive 
war, in the case of a foreign invasion. The precepts of our Savior to 
-which we have alluded, were undoubtedly given with principal refer- 
ence to the condition of private Christians, in their intercourse with 
ordinary society. The law of nature and the law of God combine to 
authorize men to form organized communities, and to invest such com 
munities with the power to enact and to enforce law. The manner in 
which Abraham's promptness in interfering without divine direction, 
for the rescue of Lot, by military force, is spoken of, and the directions 
given by John the Baptist to the soldiers, who came to hear him, and 
other similar passages in the Scriptures, conclusively establish thia 



108 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Occasions of contention. Case supposed. 

man escape all injustice, in such a world as this, and avoid 
every wrong ; this is impossible. The question is, in what 
way will he escape the most of it ? The mind should be 
busy, therefore, when considering this question, not in looking 
for cases where the peaceful have suffered, but in inquiring 
which class succeed best in avoiding suffering from the in- 
justice and selfishness of men, the peaceful or the pugnacious. 
We will abide by the result of any intelligent and honest 
observer's opinion. 

But this brings us to consider the second ground of safety, 
for those who will not quarrel for their rights. The determi- 
nation that they will got quarrel, makes them more circum- 
spect and careful in avoiding all occasion for disagreement. 
Nine tenths of the disagreements among men, in respect to 
personal rights, arise from vagueness and indefiniteness in 
original arrangements, and might have been avoided by pro- 
per precautions at the proper time ; and when a man adopts 
the principle that he will not contend, he soon learns to be 
distinct and definite in all his business engagements, and 
thus avoids, by prudent forecast, nearly all the ordinary occa- 
sions of contention. He makes all his bargains and all his 
agreements with the utmost clearness and precision. If a 
certain neighbor of his is quarrelsome, and unreasonable, he 
treats him with kindness and friendliness, — but he deals with 
another man. When a case occurs by which his interests 
and rights are endangered, instead of working himself into a 
passion, in his zeal to maintain them, in the particular in- 
stance, he calmly examines the case, to see how he might 
have avoided the difficulty, and deduces from it a valuable 
principle for future guidance, and thus protects himself from 
a recurrence of the difficulty in time to come. 

To illustrate what I mean, let us take a very simple case ; 
two pedestrian traveler's, of narrow financr. engage a guid 3 



OURSELVES. 109 

The travelers and their guide. 










THE TRAVELERS. 



at the foot of a mountain, to conduct them to its summit. 
On their return they ask for his charge, and find it double 
what they think it ought to be. The explanation of this 
diversity is this. All the way up and down the mountain, 
the guide has been thinking of his remuneration, and won- 
dering what it will probably be. Personal interest has been 
pleading all the way, for a large reward. His difficulties, 
his fatigues, his dangers, have all been exaggerated, and his 
ideas of a suitable reward have been rising, and rising, until 
at length he reaches again the village whence the expedition 
comme aced, when they stand at a level considerably elevated 
above the proper point. It must necessarily be so, for before 
the court of his conscience, only one side of the question has 
been argued. 

With his employers, the case has been just the reverse ; 



110 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 



The Christian principle. The worldly principle. 

and they destend the hill, with their ideas settled at a point 
as much too low, as their attendant's are too high, and when 
they attempt a settlement, they find themselves separated hy 
a considerahle chasm. 

Now A, acting on the worldly principle, immediately falls 
into a dispute. Though he is himself as much in the wrong 
as the mountaineer, he sees distinctly the hias of the latter, 
but is utterly insensible to his own. Hard words and irri- 
tated feelings grow worse and worse, until, after some sort 
of forced adjustment, they separate in anger. 

But B, acting on the Christian principle, retreats from the 
debatable ground. He sees that this debatable ground is a 
region of uncertainty, between what is the least which they 
themselves consider to be due, and the greatest which the 
guide can with any plausibility claim ; and that probably 
the line of justice lies somewhere within it, at a place not 
easily to be ascertained ; and he accordingly retreats from 
the whole ground. He perceives that he ought not to have 
left room for such a region of uncertainty, and, as he pays 
the money good-humoredly, he says to himself, " I might have 
known that it would be so. We should have defined our 
mutual claims beforehand." 

This is a very simple case, but it shows the principle on 
which an immense proportion of contentions and quarrels 
among men, arise, — just as the little currents of air over a 
heated iron plate, on the table of the lecturer, exhibit the 
principles by which all the storms and tempests, which 
sweep over oceans and continents, are controlled. 

It is thus. In the various relations which men sustain to 
one another, their respective rights can not always clearly be 
specified with exactness. There is between what is clearly 
the right of the first party on the one side, and what is, on 
the other, clearly the right of the second, — a sort of inter- 
mediate region of doubtful character, so that it is claimed by 



OURSELVES. 1 1 ] 

Way in which quarrels originato. Our Savior's precept. 

each, the judgment of each being warped a little by his feel- 
ings. So that in almost all the connections of business, be- 
tween man and man, their mutual claims overlap each other, 
as it were, a little, and it is in this disputed and doubtful ter- 
ritory, that almost all the streams of discord and contention 
take their rise. Now the Christian will avoid this ground. 
He will generally set up no claim to it. He will endeavor, 
by wise and prudent forecast and circumspection, to make it 
as narrow as possible, so as to leave as little room as possible 
for uncertainty ; but when such gronnd is left, he knows very 
well that the selfish shrewdness of the one he deals with, will 
lead him to reach his arm over to the further boundary of it ; 
and, unless in some very peculiar case, he will retreat at 
once to that boundary, and make no serious attempts to secure 
any thing, but what is most unquestionably his. 

It is a good plan, whenever any subject of difficulty seems 
to be coming up, between you and any man with whom you 
have dealings, for you to go over in imagination, as it were, 
to his side, and endeavor for a moment to look at it as he 
does ; — not as he ought to look at it, but as you know he 
will, — possessing as he does, the usual feelings of human 
nature. Now the encroachment on our rights, which men 
of the world are thus likely to make, will only in general 
extend over the uncertain territory, which, compared with 
the whole amount, will, with ordinary discretion, be usually 
very small, and it is generally best for the Christian to aban- 
don it altogether. 

" If any man will sue thee at the law, and take away thy 
coat, let him have thy cloak also." This may not mean that 
we are never, in any case, to contend for our rights, but it 
certainly does mean that we are very seldom to do it. It 
teaches that, at least as a general principle, Christians are to 
be content with what they can get peaceably. What we 
can not secure witbout quarreling for it, we must be willing 



112 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Misery of contention. Way to avoid it. 

to lose. If we determine beforehand to act upon this prin- 
ciple, we shall plan accordingly. We shall not expose our- 
selves, and in the end shall prosper as much as the most 
sturdy and determined vindicator of his rights, who makes it 
his motto never to demand more than he is entitled to, and 
never to take less. 

But we seem to be considering the duty of not quarrel- 
ing, whereas our subject in this chapter is not duty, but 
happiness. We should, therefore, rather be attempting to 
show the necessity of peace with our fellow-men, in order 
to secure our own enjoyment. Though this scarcely needs 
to be shown. A man can not be happy while engaged in a 
quarrel. The rising feelings of indignation against injustice, 
are misery to the heart which feels them, — and so are the 
whole class of angry, and irritated, and vexatious feelings, 
about the misconduct or petty faults of others. Never yield 
to them. Expect often to find men selfish and blind to the 
interests and rights of others, and make it a part of your 
regular calculation to experience inconvenience from this 
source. Then you will not be surprised or vexed, when this 
inconvenience comes. Accustom yourselves to look upon 
your neighbors' side of the question, as well as your own. 
Be desirous that he should do well and prosper, as well as 
you. In all your agreements, be clear and specific before- 
hand, as you certainly would be, if you knew that every thing 
left indefinite would go in the end against you. Where 
any question arises between you and another, lean toward his 
rights and interests. With all your efforts in that way, you 
will not more than overcome your natural bias in favor of 
your own. If there is any doubt, then, give your neighbor 
the benefit of it, — any ambiguity, interpret in his favor. 
This will be the best way to preserve your rights most 
effectually ; but if you do not think so, if you fear thia 



OURSELVES. ii3 

Repining against God. Losses. Disappointments. 

course will lose something of your rights, you must admit 
that it is the way to preserve your peace and happiness. 

2. There was one other point to consider, before bringing 
this chapter to a close, namely, the extent to which men 
mar and destroy their happiness, by struggling and repining 
against the Providence of God. Whatever happens to you, 
if it is not the direct consequence of your own personal mis- 
conduct, comes through the Providence of God, and you ought 
to feel that he has sent it. Is your child sick ? that sickness 
comes from his hand. Is your house, which you have earned 
by slowly accumulating the fruits of your industry for years, 
burned by the carelessness of a domestic, or the malice of an 
incendiary ? It is the same to you, as if it had been struck 
by the lightning of heaven ; the loss, in either case, comes in 
the Providence of God, and you should no more make your- 
self miserable, by angry resentment against the domestic or 
the incendiary, than against the lightning. 

Do you experience a heavy loss in your business, by the 
fraud or the negligence of a creditor. Bear it patiently and 
submissively as from God. It is from God. If you have 
done all in your power, by prudent circumspection, to guard 
against the danger, then you are not yourself responsible for 
it, and you should not repine, any more than a child should 
murmur at the loss of a plaything, when his father had sent 
his brother or sister to take it away. 

Many people think that they have a right to murmur and 
make themselves miserable at acts of injustice which they 
suffer from others. They feel as if they ought to submit 
calmly and quietly to those ills which come directly through 
the exercise of Divine Power, — as when a ship is lost by a 
storm at sea, or sudden disease arising from no perceptible 
cause, attacks them, or when their business or their property 
is sacrificed by the progress of a pestilence, or unaccountable 
changes in the times. But when they can trace calamity, in 



1 1 4 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Joseph's case. Lesson to be learned from it. 

the first instance, to the agency of a fellow-man, they are 
disturbed, and irritated, and vexed, as if God had nothing to 
do with it whatever. But the agency of God has as much 
concern in one of these cases, as in the other. He has as 
much control over the actions and feelings of your fellow- 
men, and regulates as certainly the treatment which we are 
to receive from them, as he does the force of the winds and 
storms, the progress of a pestilence, or the track of the light- 
ning. When Joseph was let down in the pit hy his brethren, 
he was as much in God's hands, as was Jonah in the storm 
at sea. So Jesus Christ when scourged and crucified, bowed 
with submission to his sorrows, as to sorrows and sufferings 
brought upon him by his Father's hand. 

Take the case of Joseph, for instance. Suppose he could 
have foreseen how his history was to terminate, and what 
would be the ultimate result of his trials and sufferings, in 
respect to their influence upon the posterity of his father, and 
upon those who should read the narrative of them, in the 
word of God, in all future ages. How would he have felt, 
when his brothers sold him into bondage, to the wandering 
sons of Ishmael ? Would he have been irritated and vexed, 
and would he have gone away, into captivity with a heart 
boiling with rage, at the injustice and cruelty of his brothers ? 
No ; he would have felt a calm and happy acquiescence in 
the will of God. He would have felt himself entirely in the 
hands of his Father, who he knew was to bring ultimate and 
lasting good out of his temporary sufferings. And so will 
the Christian always feel, if he feels aright. He will carry 
about with him continually the conviction that he is, in 
every respect, in God's hands, — that nothing comes to him 
but Li the providence, and as a part of the plan, of God to- 
ward him, — and while he takes every precaution to guard 
himself from evil and danger, yet when it comes, — whether 
it be through the wickedness of man, or more apparently 
through the direct agency of God, he submits to it calmly 



OURSELVES. 



15 



Purposes of sickness. 



and with an unruffled spirit. Unless a man takes this 
view of the occurrences of human life, his happiness can 
never be on any sure and solid basis in such a world as ours. 
Perhaps the most common way in which Christians 
struggle against the Providence of God, is in the case I have 
alluded to, where either petty trouble or serious calamity 
.•omes through the agency of man. "We forget, in such cases, 
that so far as we ourselves are concerned, the trial comes as 
really in the providence of God, as in any case whatever. 
It is remarkable, however, that there is one case of suffer- 
ing which most plainly comes from God, and from him alone, 
and which Christians are very slow to submit to. I mean 
sickness, — our own sickness, or that of our friends. How few 
there are who do not in heart struggle against their Maker, 
when he comes and places them, or their friends, upon a bed 
of suffering. But sickness really comes from God. We 
must admit this, at least in those cases of disease which can 
not be traced to imprudence or indulgence of our own. If 
we feel this, one would think that we should yield to it sub- 
missively, and bear it 

j§tili 



patiently. Suppose you 
take your child from 
some work or play in 
which he is interested, 
and ask him to come 
and sit down by your 
side, while you speak 
to him on some im- 
portant subject. In- 
stead of giving up the 
thoughts of his former 
employment, and lis- 
tening attentively to 
what you have to ssy, 
he looks eagerly and 




INSUBMISSION. 



116 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

The sick mother. The man of business. 

anxiously away from you, watching his companions, and 
evidently longing to be restored to them. You reprove him 
very justly for his inattention, and his evident eagerness 
to be released from your hold. 

But now come with me to this sick chamber. There lies 
upon that bed the mother of a family, removed from the 
scene of her labors and enjoyments, and laid in helpless inac- 
tion upon her pillow. Who has placed her there ? God. 
For what ? Because he has something to say to her. Is not 
sickness a providence, that is intended to speak to the soul ? 
But, instead of lying quietly resigned to God's will, and lis- 
tening patiently to his voice, her heart is filled with eager 
impatience to be restored to her family. She thinks how 
many things are going wrong, — -how many interests will suf- 
fer, — how much will be neglected, while she lies helpless in 
her bed. But oh, thou impatient mother, remember, that he 
who brings sickness, is to be considered as bringing every 
evil which necessarily folloivs in its train. If you repine, 
then, or murmur at any of the inevitable consequences of 
your removal from the scene of your labors, you are in heart 
struggling against God. So with the man of business. No 
matter what inconvenience, or what losses come upon him, 
in consequence of sickness. He ought not to walk his room 
with anxious impatience, nor look forth from bis window 
sighing to be free again. He ought to feel that when God 
shuts him up from his daily duties, God takes upon himself 
the responsibility of it. "Whatever losses are suffered come 
from him. It is the patient's duty to be resigned, and to 
listen to what God has to say to him, in his silent and soli- 
tary chamber. 

Perhaps the very object, for which the sickness was sent, 
is to teach you resignation to the divine will. Perhaps God 
has seen in your conduct a dissatisfied and repining spirit, 
awakened by a thousand little circumstances which are be 



OURSELVES. 117 

The sick child. Duty of submission. The responsibility of the decision. 

yorid your control, and which y T ou therefore ought to consider 
as ordered by Providence. Now, perhaps God has brought 
sickness upon j t ou for the sake of removing this fault. How 
admirably is it calculated to produce this effect. How irre- 
sistibly must a man feel that a very strong hand is over him, 
when he is taken from his sphere, and laid down upon his 
bed, — all his plans suspended, or destroyed, and no human 
power capable of restoring him to activity again. One would 
think, if man could learn submission anywhere, it is here. 

The same principles of duty should govern us in witness- 
ing the sickness of a friend ; and of all cases, the sickness of 
a child is the one against which we are the most likely to 
struggle. There are thousands of parents professedly Chris- 
tians, whose lives are imbitterect, and whose peace and hap- 
piness is destroyed, because they can not really trust their 
children in the hands of God. Every little sickness alarms 
them, — every precaution, whether suggested by reason or 
imagination, is taken, and the mind is full of restless, unsub- 
missive fears, as if they were under the dominion of a tyrant. 
Now there is a certain degree of ordinary prudence and cau- 
tion to be observed, and in case of sickness, there is medical 
skill, which, to a certain extent, may modify or change re- 
sults. But after all, these precautions and this aid will go 
but a very little way. The invasions of disease, especially in 
children, are far less dependent on circumstances within our 
control than is often supposed. The development of heredi- 
tary tendencies, the mysterious influences of atmospheric 
changes, and a thousand combinations of causes and circum- 
stances, not to be controlled, produce them ; and when they 
come, all that we have to do is quietly and calmly to pursue 
the course which seems best adapted to promote restoration. 
As to the responsibility of the result, we throw ourselves on 
God ; and let him do just as he pleases. 

Suppose, now, there should be a mother, always uneasy 



118 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

The mother and the sick child. 

and solicitous about her child when it was in health, or sit- 
ting over it when in sickness, restless and anxious, trying 
this remedy and that, without reason and without hope, just 
because she can not give him up ; — suppose, I say, that God 
should come to the bedside, and say to her, " Anxious mother, 
— I was taking charge of your child, but since you are so 
restless and uneasy about it, I will give the case up to you, 
if you will take it. There is a great question to be decided ; 
— shall that child recover or die ? I was going to decide it 
in the best way for yourself and him. But since you can 
not trust me, you may decide it yourself. Look upon him, 
then, as he lies there suffering, and then look forward as far 
as you can into futurity, — see as much as you can of his life 
here, if you allow him to live ; and look forward to eternity, 
— to his eternity and yours. Get all the light that you can, 
and then tell me whether you are really ready to take the 
responsibility of deciding the question, whether he shall live 
or die. Since you are not willing to allow me to decide it, I 
will leave you to decide it yourself." 

What would be the feelings of a mother if God should thus 
withdraw from the sick-bed of her child, and leave the re- 
sponsibility of the case in her hands alone. "Who would dare 
to exercise the power, if the power were given, or say to a 
dying child, " You shall live, and on me shall be the respon- 
sibility." Then let us all leave God to decide. Let us be 
wise, and prudent, and faithful, in all our duties, but never 
for a moment indulge in an anxious thought ; — it is rebellion. 
Let us rather throw ourselves on God. Let us say to him 
that we do not know what is best either for us or our chil- 
dren, and ask him to do with us just as he pleases. Then 
we shall be at peace at all times, — when disease makes its 
first attack, — when the critical hours approach, by which the 
question of life or death is to be decided, and even when the 
last night of the little patient's suffering has come, and we 



OURSELVES. ll l J 

Restless repining. Summary of tho chapter. 

Bee the vital powers gradually sinking, in their fearful strug- 
gle with death. 

Besides, were it not so much pleasanter and happier for us 
to submit cheerfully to God, it would be the height of folly 
to do otherwise. Suppose that God has decided that it is 
best for your child to die, — and has come into your family, and 
laid it upon its bed, and has admitted a fatal disease into its 
system, which is busy at its sad work upon the vital powers 
there. Can you change his purpose, do you think, by rest- 
lessness and repining, and rebellious anxiety about it ? No. 
That is the way, on the contrary, to accelerate the blow. 
Perhaps your want of submission to God is the reason why 
the trial is sent ; and by indulging such a feeling you only 
demonstrate more folly the necessity of the moral remedy 
which you fear. It is a moral remedy, and God will never 
be deterred from administering a medicine on account of the 
impatience or resistance of the one who needs it. No. The 
wisest and best thing that we can do when we see God ap- 
proaching us with a bitter cup, is calmly and submissively to 
take it from his hands, and drink it up. If he perceives this 
feeling, he will administer the draught with so much tender 
kindness that it will lose half its power. 

The sum and substance, then, of our directions for securing 
personal happiness in this world is this : Make your peace 
thoroughly with God, — regulate all your worldly affairs, and 
attend to them industriously and on system, — have no quar- 
rels with men, and submit cheerfully to all the dealings of 
God. Let any man who is not happy take hold of his char- 
acter and habits, and reform them on these principles. Let 
him do the work thoroughly and honestly, and if then his 
peace and happiness do not return, it must be that he stands 
in need of medical, not moral, treatment. 



120 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Common idea of giving to the poor. Causes of poverty. 



CHAPTER IV. 



" Where there is no vision, the people perish." 

There are a great many persons in the world whose only 
idea of doing good seems to be the act of giving money, or 
something which money will purchase, to the poor. Pecu- 
niary charity, as a relief for physical suffering, they appear 
to consider the great work of Christian benevolence. 
Whereas it is but a very, very small department ; and 
though it is a department which must on no account be 
neglected, still it is probably one in which the labors of the 
philanthropist are most discouraging, and least effectual in 
producing any ultimate, useful result. 

The reason of this will be obvious upon a little reflection 
on the nature and causes of poverty. In America, and prob- 
ably in most parts of England, poverty, by which I mean the 
absolute want of the necessaries of life, arises in a vast ma- 
jority of cases from idleness, mismanagement, or vice. It is 
the punishment which Providence has assigned to each of 
these offenses against his laws, and, as in all other cases, you 
can not very easily abate the punishment without increasing 
the sin. Good character, industry, and prudence, will in 
almost any country, under almost any government, and in 
almost any condition, find a comfortable subsistence. Of 
course there are exceptions ; exceptions on a great scale pro- 
duced by great national calamities, and on a smaller scale by 



THE POOR. 12 J 

Exceptions. An example. The child. 

individual sickness or suffering. There are men, undoubt- 
edly, the utmost efforts of whose feeble powers will not pro- 
cure the means of subsistence ; — and thousands may be re- 
duced to beggary by a pestilence, or a prevailing famine, or 
turned out of employment by a change in the arrangements 
of business, — or reduced to the extreme of hunger and de- 
spair in a besieged city, It is not, however, my province 
here to speak of these. They are beyond the limits of ordi- 
nary private Christian charity. There are great emergencies 
which must be met, each by its own appropriate remedy 
which the statesman must devise ; or they are, as is more 
frequently the case, judgments from heaven which admit of 
no remedy, perhaps even no sensible alleviation from the 
hand of man, but will do their awful work to the full. 

These instances are, however, rare ; all the ordinary cases 
of suffering from poverty are produced from one of the three 
causes above enumerated, — idleness, mismanagement, or vice ; 
and it is almost impossible to alleviate the consequences with- 
out aggravating the cause. 

For example, let us look at a very common case. A 
woman, apparently in the most wretched condition which 
imagination can conceive, comes up to your door, begging for 
some money to buy food. She carries a child in her arms, 
pale and sickly, but lying quiet and passive ; it has too little 
vitality to cry. The woman is really fatigued and hungry. 
So she was half an hour ago, and she stopped at a house at 
a little distance, where perceiving that she was not observed, 
she stole a pair of shoes, which instead of converting them 
to food she has pawned at a grocery for rum. As to her 
hunger, she presumed that she should find some charitable 
person to supply her with food. The child is not her own. 
A guilty and inhuman mother has given it to her. " Given 
it to her !" you exclaim. "What can have induced her to 
take such a burden?" Because it helps her to excite syrn- 
F 



122 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 



Vice and misery. 



pathy and obtain money. Besides, the little sufferer's wasted 
and emaciated frame is not heavy ; and its pale and sunken 
countenance, and hollow, languid eye, gains more silver than 
all that the artful woman herself can say. She has been put 
into an almshouse once or twice, but has made her escape. 
She prefers the roving life of a beggar-woman, with its lib- 
erty, its idleness, and its rum. She generally finds enough 
good-hearted but weak philanthropists to give a sufficient 
quantity of money for the only purchase she wishes to make ; 
and others, who will not give her money, will give her food 
and clothes ; — so that the only evil she really fears is a few 
hours' interruption to the supply of her cup. Habit has made 
any barn or shed a comfortable lodging to her ; — she has be- 
come accustomed, too, to the burden she carries, and she 
has slung it so dexterously that it presses but lightly on her 
back ; and when the little sufferer cries, the same potion 
which intoxicates her will quiet him. The potion answers, 
too, the additional purpose of perpetuating, by its poisoning 
effect, that pale and sickly countenance, on which his whole 
value depends. And she reflects that should he live, and 
become too heavy to be carried, he will be old enough to beg, 
and soon after to steal ; — or, if he should not be an apt scholar 
in learning these arts, she can leave him by the road-side, to- 
ward morning, in some populous village, or upon the city 
side-walk. 

This is the kind of life which she deliberately prefers. 
Not because it is a happy one. It is a most wretched one. 
Her days are spent in continual misery. Want often presses 
her down ; hunger gnaws ; cold and exposure bring frequent 
and severe suffering, — and diseases brought on by vice some- 
times stupefy her senses, and sometimes torture her with the 
acutest pains. And more than all the rest, a guilty con- 
science corrodes her heart, and completes her misery by 
making her mind as full of sources of suffering as her body. 



THE POOR. 123 

What can be done 1 Effect of charitable aid. 

She does not prefer this life because she is happy, but because 
she is wicked ; and such a course opens the widest door for 
the indulgence of every sin. 

Now this wretched outcast comes up to your dwelling, in 
an hour of real suffering from hunger. She wants bread 
for herself, and milk for her starving child. She does really 
want it. For a moment hunger has overpowered a depraved 
and insatiable thirst ; but then if you satisfy the one, all that 
you do, is just to restore the miserable victim to the dominion 
of the other. As she leaves your house, after having been 
warmed, and clothed, and fed, — she will pilfer something 
from the kitchen, if she can, and go away imploring Heaven 
to bless you, for your goodness ; and at the next bar-room, 
she will exchange the article she has stolen, and the flannel, 
with which you have wrapped her child, for something that 
she craves and will have at every sacrifice. 

Now, when such a case presents itself, what can you do ? 
Nine tenths of the benevolent portion of mankind would be 
deceived, and would profusely relieve such a case of suffer- 
ing by money, or something which could be turned int<? 
money, — not understanding the case. But suppose you really 
understand it, what can you do ? Will you remonstrate 
with her ? You might as well talk to the idle wind. Will 
you clothe her child ? That clothing is just as good as 
money to her, at many a haunt of vice : and, besides, were 
it not so, she would not keep such clothing on. Clothing 
the child comfortably would spoil it as an instrument of 
accomplishing her purpose, and rather than destroy its power 
of awakening sympathy, by having it comfortable, she would 
throw your gifts away, over the first wall she passes. Will 
you turn her away from your door, then, without relief? 
She is actually suffering with hunger, and the lips of the 
helpless babe, too, are parched with thirst, which that cup 
of warm milk, standing upon your kitchen table, would so 



124 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

The wicked woman's plan of life. Treating symptoms. 

speedily relieve. No : you can not send her away. "Will 
you, then, supply her immediate and pressing wants, and 
those of her child, and refrain from giving her any thing 
which she can pervert ? This is exactly her plan, to get 
from the really benevolent, food and occasional shelter, and 
from the unthinking liberality of others, or from theft, the 
means of indulgence in vice. This is exactly her plan, and 
by sending her away from your door warmed and fed, you do 
what is exactly calculated to encourage her to go on in her 
life of sin. 

Still, perhaps, you ought to do it. As I shall presently 
show, we must relieve, if we can, actual physical suffering, 
no matter where it is found, or what is its cause. I detail 
this case, thus particularly, to show how many, and how 
great are the difficulties which beset the whole subject of 
pecuniary charity to the poor. Perhaps my readers, espe- 
cially those not much acquainted with the world, may think 
that this must be a very extraordinary case, altogether un- 
usual, and, consequently, one not to be safely used as a guide 
to principles. The case would be a striking one, I admit, 
but not strange and unusual in its character. It illustrates 
strongly, but fairly, I believe, the general character of 
wretched poverty, in almost all civilized communities ; and 
the difficulties so obvious in this one detached case, are sub- 
stantially the difficulties which have always perplexed the 
most enlightened philanthropists, in respect to the whole 
subject of pecuniary aid to the poor. Their poverty, their 
want, their hunger, their cold, their nakedness, are symptoms, 
and symptoms only ; and a system of direct effort to relieve 
these, is what the medical profession call treating symptoms, 
— a course which must sometimes be pursued, but which is 
very far, usually, from having any tendency to promote a 
radical cure of the disease. 

We will present one more case, which gives us a view 



125 

The little beggar. 



of the same state of things in, however, a little different 
aspect. 

In the back apartment of a miserable cellar, in a crowd- 
ed street of New York, lives a collection of human beings : 
for it would be wrong to call such a community a family. 
There is a mother there, it is true, but all the other relations 
of life are obliterated and confounded. During the day, — a 
cold January day, — the miserable hole exhibits a scene of 
riot and noise, of oaths and imprecations, — now of wild un- 
earthly mirth, and now of malicious rage ; — such a scene 
as it would do too much violence to the feelings to describe. 
Their means of vicious indulgence are nearly exhausted, 
and to replenish them the mother sends out her child, — 
choosing the youngest and sickliest of the group, — to stand 
upon the cold side-walk, and beg of the passing stranger. 
" Say," says the unnatural mother, " that your father is 
dead, and your mother is sick, and you want some money 
for medicine." 

The child will not go. She has no objection to the false 
hood, or to the dishonesty, but she is not inclined to obey. 
Then follows a scene of passionate, furious contention, be- 
tween an angry mother and a willful and obstinate child ; — 
for, from the first moment of her existence, that immortal 
mind has been trained up, by measures and influences most 
admirably adapted to produce their effect, to falsehood, obsti- 
nacy, passion, and every sin. 

Superior strength conquers, and the weak and trembling 
child, paler than usual with anger, finds herself ejected by 
force into the cold street, the bleak wind driving upon her 
uncovered head, and blowing the snow into her exposed, 
half-naked bosom. Do you think she feels it or heeds it ? 
No : she is hardened to physical suffering, and her whole 
bouI is absorbed by the tumultuary feelings of passion within. 

She walks along sobbing with vexation, determined still 



126 



THE WAY TO DO GOOD 



Misery not innocence. 



not to submit to her tyrant's commands, and yet knowing 
that she must suffer cold and hunger many hours, unless 
she can carry home the fruits of deception. She wanders 
instinctively on, until she reaches a street where she might 
make application with some hope of success, and then almost 
instinctively accosts the first well-dressed stranger who passes 
by. He shakes his head and walks on. 

A small hoy, smaller and weaker than herself, approaches. 
He is returning from the grocer's at the corner, where he has 
been to buy some bread, and he brings back the change in 
his hand. It was but a step from his home, and his mother 
thought she would trust him, though the wind was cold. 
Our little beggar sees a shorter way to gain her end. She 
seizes his arm, and with a dexterity, which shows that this 
is not her first lesson, she wrests the small silver and copper 
soins from the little messenger's hand, and darts off round 




THE BEGGAB QIRL. 



THE POOR. 127 

A hopeless case. 



the corner. The boy screams aloud, as he lies crying upon 
the snowy pavement, where the violence of the assault has 
thrown him. The passengers turn their heads as they pass, 
and one, with more feeling for the sorrows of childhood than 
the rest, stops to help him up, and to ask what is the matter. 
But sobs and tears are very general in their meaning, and 
the poor boy has no other language at command. In the 
mean time the thief is far away. 

Holding her money tenaciously in her little hand, she 
walks along, till, in a little sunny nook in a back yard, sur- 
rounded by a high wall, she finds some children, wretched 
as herself, trying to play. Though the water drops slowly 
from the icicles above them, it is yet cold : but it is" a change 
of miseries to sit here for a time. She joins them and spends 
an hour, that she may not return too soon. For she knows 
that if her mother should understand by what good fortune 
her supply was so easily obtained, she would exact a double 
task. The increasing chill drives her home, but it is too 
soon. Her mother, seeing silver, knows that she has adopted 
some more expeditious mode of obtaining it than begging, — ■ 
and snatching her booty from her hands, she drives her out 
again with reproaches and blows. 

The child returns to her post and stands chilled and shiv- 
ering in the corner of the streets, until at length she gains 
the ear of a man who can feel for human suffering, and tells 
him with an artful air of artlessness, that her father is dead 
and her mother very sick, and begs him to give her a little 
money for medicine. 

Now what can money do in such a case as this ? Sup- 
pose that the benevolent man who listens to the tale, is the 
wealthiest man on earth ; what can he do with wealth alone 
that will touch such misery as this ? And this is the nature 
of almost the whole of that great mass of physical wretch- 
edness, which has been for a century accumulating in Eng 



123 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 



land and America. This case may be a strong one, but 
it is true to the fact. The great truth, which it illustrates, 
is one which should affect all our plans for doing good, or 
rather the whole system of operations -which we attempt to 
carry into effect. Sin and misery are almost inextricably 
mingled in the cup of human woe. There is destitution of 
comfort and depravity of heart, and they both exist together. 
Each perpetuates the other, and any system which aims at 
supplying the wants, while it leaves the depravity, is only 
adding new fuel to the fires of these earthly hells. "We do 
not present these views, unquestionably true as they are, to 
blunt the sympathies of the heart, or to lead men to turn a 
deaf ear to the cry of suffering poverty, on the ground that 
its sufferings are all deserved. It is true, indeed, that they 
are too often deserved, but this is a consideration which 
should not lead us wholly to disregard them, The only way 
in which these unquestionable facts should influence us, is 
to lead us to look carefully at what is to be the ultimate 
tendency and effect of our me/isures of relief. In fact, there 
are two reasons why every benevolent mind should be made 
clearly to understand the real state of the case, in respect to 
the subject we are treating. The first is, that they may be 
thoroughly convinced that the only way of doing any real, 
and substantial, and lasting good to the human family, is by 
the improvement of character. Character is every thing. 
Let this be right, and honesty, industry, and prudence will 
root out want and wretchedness from every part of the earth. 
But leave character unchanged, and human want and woe 
are a mighty gulf which will swallow up all that the benev- 
olence of the whole world can throw in, and then be wider 
and darker and more awful than before. And the way to 
improve character is to bid God speed everywhere to the 
gospel of Jesus Christ. It is the only means which has ever 
been found adequate to the work of subduing human pas- 



THE POOR. 129 

The way to save mankind. Sentimental feeling. 

sions, and securing to a community the blessings of comfort 
and peace. Bring men back to God, — show them that their 
aggravated sins may all be forgiven, enkindle within them 
the hopes of a happy immortality, and let them see in the 
great Mediator between God and man, a guide, and a com- 
panion, and a sympathizing friend to them, in all their sor- 
rows and cares, and in the vast majority of cases you need 
have no more fear of cold and hunger and nakedness, — you 
will find uo more broken-hearted wives or starved children. 

The second object which we have had in view, in present- 
ing this view of the subject, is, to impress our readers with a 
sense of the importance of their understanding what they do, 
and what is the real tendency and effect of their measures, 
whenever they do act directly in the relief of present suffer- 
ing. They must understand that it is only alleviating symp- 
toms after all, while the real disease continues to rage with 
unabated power. There are some exceptions, but they are 
much fewer than the inexperienced would generally suppose ; 
and even when we are aware of the general rule, our hearts 
are very prone to make the case which is for the moment 
appealing to us, one of the exceptions. There is a sort of 
instinctive feeling that the being whom we see suffering 
before us must be innocent. Pity is cousin to love, and love 
to moral approbation ; and where the first comes in by right, 
the last is very likely to intrude. 

Those whose benevolence is based on sentimental feeling 
alone, are in special danger from such delusions, and will 
often do injury where they were fondly hoping to do good. 
You visit a wretched house, perhaps, and find a woman 
there, who tells you a piteous story about her sufferings from 
the neglect and the wrongs endured from an intemperate 
husband. Her story is plausible, and how much more 
readily will a feeling heart, in observing the unequivocal 
proofs of wretchedness around, believe than question hei 



130 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Some cases of virtuous poverty. 

story. And, then, if the understanding should coolly suggest 
that character generally receives its direction in accordance 
with the circumstances under which it is formed, and that 
the abode of vice is not the place where you would naturally 
expect to find a virtuous woman ;^and consequently that, 
though this may he an exception, you ought to he cautious 
in admitting it to be such, without evidence adequate to 
the case ; — I say, if the understanding coldly suggests these 
thoughts, we strive to banish them as if they were unjust 
and cruel. It is a case where we are in special danger of 
being led, by the heart, astray. 

The views here given, do not apply to all the cases of 
suffering poverty which the Christian will meet. There is 
virtuous poverty, though it is rare. The industrious and 
frugal workman is kept for years on the verge of want by 
his feeble health, and his increasing family, and sinks at 
last under the burden which he can carry no longer. The 
virtuous wife, too, is deprived of her earnings by the brutality 
of her husband, — and herself and her children suffer all the 
bitterness of want, that the depraved and insatiable appetites 
of the husband and father may be supplied. The orphan 
child, too, is often, very often, left friendless and alone, — to be 
saved by Christian charity, or else to go to utter ruin. I 
should be sorry, indeed, if any individuals of these classes 
should read the remarks in this chapter, and imagine that 
they could be intended to have any bearing upon them. 
If there is any moral spectacle which can make the heart 
bleed, and bring tears of compassion into the eye, it is to see 
a broken-hearted wife and mother, toiling in vain to procure 
food and clothing for her defenseless children, and to shelter 
them from exposure to vice and ruin, while their insane and 
brutal father is raving in the streets, with flushed cheeks, 
and glazed eyes, and muttering voice, during the day, and 
turning his home at night into a scene of terror and despair. 






THE POOR. 131 

These exceptions rare. First direction. Suffering vice and suffering virtue. 

And then to think that for such ills there is and there can ha 
no earthly remedy. Our sympathy, our aid, our encourage- 
ment may give a little alleviation ; it is, however, hut little 
after all. The hitter cup we can not sweeten nor take 
away. 

These cases, however, much as every Christian philan- 
thropist will feel for them, he will find comparatively rare. 
They are exceptions to the general rule, that want is ordi- 
narily the punishment of idleness, improvidence, or vice. 
Still, to relieve want is an important part of our duty, and 
we shall devote the remainder of this chapter to some hrief 
rules and cautions, hy which we ought to he guided in dis- 
charging it. 

1. The distress must be relieved if possible. Whatever 
doubts and difficulties there may be, about making formal 
and systematic preparations for taking care of the poor, and 
however justly the sufferings of the poor may generally he 
considered as the result of their own improvidence, and vice, 
yet, when real distress actually comes, we must immediately 
do all in our power to relieve it. No matter whether the 
sufferer is innocent or guilty. No matter whether he has 
brought calamity upon his head, or is suffering ills which no 
foresight could have avoided. It is enough that he is suffer- 
ing, and that we have power to relieve him. 

In fact, in some points of view, suffering vice is a greater 
object of compassion than suffering virtue. In the former 
case, there is nothing to alleviate, — nothing to sustain or 
console ; hut the heart is overwhelmed with the sorrows and 
sufferings which press it from without, and yet finds nothing 
but gloom and desolation within. For a man to find misery 
before and around him, staring upon him in the ruins of 
what was once a happy home, driving his wife to despair, 
and starving his children, — and then to feel that it is all tha 
result of his own folly and sin, must be wretchedness indeed. 



132 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 



Suffering virtue uncommon. 



If we can relieve it, it must be relieved. The Savior has 
set us the example. We must stop the pain, and then, by 
the strongest moral means which we can bring to bear upon 
his heart, we must bid the sufferer sin no more. 

We may, therefore, lay it down as one simple and univer- 
sal rule, that when we find suffering, — real, unquestionable 
suffering, — we have no doubts and queries to raise about the 
character or the desert of the sufferer. Whenever and 
wherever we find it, — no matter what is its cause, or who 
is its victim, — we must relieve it if we can. 

2. We must take care that we correctly understand the 
case ; so that we may know how great the real suffering is. 
In this respect we must guard against two dangers. First, 
being deceived by the sufferer, and, secondly, deceiving our- 
selves. 

First. No persons, excepting those who have had a great 
deal of experience, and, together with it, a great deal of 
knowledge of human nature, and of shrewdness in under- 
standing its movements, can form any conception of the 
extent to which the Benevolence of Feeling is duped in this 
world. The Benevolence of Principle is not so easily 
deceived. That there must be, from the very nature of 
the case, such deception, any one will see by a moment's 
thought. The wretched and destitute in this world, as has 
already been shown, are in a vast majority of cases depraved 
and abandoned in character. It may seem harsh to say it, 
but every one who has had an opportunity for judging knows 
it is true. Virtue suffering real want, is seldom to be found 
excepting in poetry and fiction. It is in this way, that this 
becomes true, either it is vice which makes a man wretched, 
and brings him down from the position he might have 
occupied, or else, if the inevitable circumstances of his lot 
bring him to a condition of wretchedness, they do, at the 
same time, as the world now goes on, expose him to irfflu- 



THE POOFv. 133 

Artifices of the vicious. Hypocrisy. 

ences which almost inevitably make him depraved. When 
therefore we see an object of misery coming to us for relief, 
it is very unsafe for us to believe, too readily, that he is an 
honest man. 

Still, as I have said under the preceding head, this is no 
reason why he should not be relieved, if he is really a suf- 
ferer. It is no reason why we should pronounce him a bad 
man, or say any thing or do any thing to lead him to sup- 
pose that we consider him so. It is only a reason why we 
should be on our guard. In fact we ought not to consider 
him, as an individual, bad. "We ought not to decide the 
question at all, till we have evidence which applies to the 
particular case. Our feeling should be that the question 
whether the applicant before us is a good man or a bad 
man is yet undecided, but that probably, when we come 
to have evidence on the point, we shall find that it will 
not be in his favor, and that therefore we ought to be on our 
guard. 

A volume might be filled with details of the contrivances 
of artful men and women, and of children taught all the 
practices of depravity at an early age, to feign wretched- 
ness, and at the same time to assume the semblance of 
virtue. They will put forward into display every sign and 
indication of suffering that they can think of. They inure 
themselves to hardships that they may exhibit themselves 
in the endurance of them. They know too, generally, that 
it is from Christians alone that the suffering have much 
ground of hope, and they soon learn the language of 
seriousness, or of piety itself, that they may awaken a 
moral interest in their behalf in the hearts of Christian 
benefactors. They can talk of their sorrows, their trials, 
their temptations, their hard struggles with the ills of their 
lot, and by means of the confidence which the language of 
piety obtains for them in the hearts of others they procure 



134 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Danger of deceiving ourselves. The stage-driver. 

the means and the stimulants which carry them on with 
redoubled rapidity in the career of depravity. This may 
seem severe. The benevolence of sentiment and feeling 
will perhaps exclaim against it ; but the most experienced 
and -the most indefatigable friend of the suffering poor, will 
testify that it is true. And what must we do ? Relieve 
the suffering if you can, and hear attentively the story. 
But suspect all mere professions of piety, or even of a 
dawning interest in it, and do not take appearances as 
evidence of the real extent of the suffering. Be, in a word, 
on your guard. But never turn a deaf ear to complaints 
because you suspect them to be insincere, or refuse to relieve 
suffering because you believe it deserved. Vengeance is not 
ours. The more intimately sin and suffering are mingled in 
a cup of misery, the louder is the call to the Christian to 
come immediately with relief. For here both the enemies 
against which he is contending may be encountered together. 
The considerations which we have presented should therefore 
have influence only in leading us to be careful that we 
ascertain correctly what the real nature and extent of the 
suffering really is, and not to postpone or to neglect relieving 
it when it is ascertained. 

Secondly, we are in great danger of deceiving ourselves in 
respect to the reality of the suffering that we witness. We 
consider how much we should suffer, if we were in the place 
of those whom we pity, and measure the extent of their pain 
by our susceptibilities. The body becomes inured to hard- 
ships to a degree which is surprising. The cold, the absti- 
nence, the exposure which would destroy one, will be borne 
by another without any serious suffering. A stage-driver 
will sit upon his box all day, without seeing, or wishing to see 
a fire ; driving in an atmosphere of piercing cold, so intense 
that the passengers within, though protected from the air, 
and muffled in cloaks and furs, can scarcely bear its extreme 



THE POOR. 135 

The power ol habit. Third rule. Dangt.r of overdoing. 

inclemency while they are passing from one blazing tavern- 
fire to another. How often, too, have we seen, as we have 
been hurrying along the streets to our home, on a bleak win- 
try day, a group of boys with thin clothing, open bosoms, and 
bare hands, amusing themselves with their coasting, or their 
snow-forts, hour after hour. Many a time does the tender 
mother pity her poor child, playing in the cold, when it is 
all enjoyment to him. It is so with abstinence from food. 
The human constitution adapts itself with wonderful readi- 
ness and certainty to its conditions, and learns to do and to 
bear without pain, what it is often compelled to do and to 
bear. Now, let no reader say that these remarks are intend- 
ed to deny that the poor suffer from hunger and cold. They 
do suffer often and intensely — more intensely than the well- 
clothed and well-fed dispenser of charity can conceive. Still 
they often do not suffer, where there is every appearance of 
suffering ; that is, we see that we should suffer in their place, 
and we think that they must suffer too. We ought to be 
aware of this ; for to enable us to act wisely and judiciously, 
the first thing is to understand correctly the case, in respect 
to which we are going to act. 

3. When we have found, thus, a case of real suffering, 
and have taken those precautions which the nature of the 
case will admit for correctly understanding it, we ought to 
proceed soberly and cautiously in measures for relief. If your 
feelings become deeply interested in the case, — and if your 
benevolence is rather that of feeling than of principle, they 
will be very likely to become so, by the influence of little 
circumstances which may give the charm of sentiment or ro- 
mance to the affair, — you may make a great exertion, yoxx 
may enlist the feelings and efforts of your acquaintance, and 
you may, by your various plans, carry your measures for re- 
lief altogether beyond just bounds. It is not that you will be 
in danger of producing too much happiness, but that by over- 



136 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Encourage exertion. Illustration. Effects of profusion. 

doing your part here, you may aggravate, in the end, the 
suffering which you intended to relieve. How you will be 
in danger of doing this, will appear more clearly from the 
cautions given in the two following heads. 

4. In all your efforts to promote the good of the poor, en- 
leavor to encourage, and bring out, and aid, their own efforts, 
not to supply the place of such efforts by your charity. Your 
principle should be, not to carry them, but to help them 
walk, themselves. Aid them in their own plans, and aid 
them too as little as possible, consistently with relieving them 
from actual suffering. If, for instance, a poor woman's in- 
fant child is suffering for clothing, do not make a full supply 
of such clothing as you would desire for your own child, and 
then send it in to her to surprise and gladden her by the un- 
expected profusion. By doing so, you will indeed produce a 
momentary feeling of surprise, and perhaps gratitude ; but 
you go so far beyond what her own exertions could hope to 
reach, that she is discouraged rather than aided, in respect to 
her own exertions for the future. She despises the coarse and 
less comfortable supplies which she can herself procure, and 
by spoiling, in her view, the rewards of her own industry, 
that industry is discouraged and depressed. She sinks into 
idleness, waiting and hoping for another gift. 

On the other hand, when you find the poor struggling with 
poverty, aid those struggles. Ask them what they want, 
what they are endeavoring to obtain, and aid them just as 
much as is necessary to enable them to obtain what they 
want, and to obtain it in their own way. Instead of sending 
them a new bed, give them aid in getting the old one mend- 
ed and renewed. Instead of removing them to another house, 
because you think you could not yourself be content in theirs, 
show them how they can make their present cabin tidy and 
comfortable. In a word, instead of coming in at once with 
a profusion of new comforts and supplies, to produce a sudden 



THE POOE.. 13? 

Danger of envy and jealousy. The benevolence of the poor. 

emotion of wonder and joy, help them a little, — just as much 
as is necessary, — in going on their own way, except, of course, 
so far as their own way is positively wrong. Thus, hy aid- 
ing them in their own lahors and plans, you encourage and 
stimulate effort, and make the little aid which you render of 
lasting henefit. 

5. If you do too much for any one individual who is suf- 
fering, you will excite the jealousy and envy of the rest. 
Thus you will cut off the poor from the sympathy and aid 
of one another, which is, after all, of more value to them 
than the more liheral charities of the rich. Among the lowest 
and most degraded classes there are all varieties of condition. 
There are gradations of rank, of influence, and poverty, as 
decided as in a royal court. A disposition to relieve and help 
one another exists, too, among them. Whenever any case 
of extraordinary suffering occurs, the neighbors flock around 
the scene, partly from real genuine compassion, and partly 
from that mysterious principle in human nature, the love of 
tragic excitement, which other classes gratify by fiction, they 
by reality. 

Suppose now in the course of your walks of charity you 
come to a wretched habitation, half under ground, where a 
woman is lying sick. Her room, if room it may be called, 
seems to you, as you enter it, entirely destitute of every com- 
fort. The sufferer is alone when you come in, but she is by 
no means deserted. Her poor neighbors, as you would call 
them, — though as their daily labors bring them all they want, 
they are very far from calling themselves poor, — have come 
in to help her. One has lent her a blanket. Another 
brought in that morning some wood to make a fire for pre- 
paring her some food, and then extinguished it as no longer 
necessary when the food was prepared. The room looks 
cheerless and uncomfortable to you, but the patient is not 
cold, any more than you yourself are cold, when sleeping in 



138 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

The right WJ y. Profuse benefactions. 

an unwarmed chamber in a night in January. Other neigh- 
bors come in during the day, from time to time, to talk a 
little with the patient and cheer her heart. Thus all her 
real wants are supplied. The appearances of suffering which 
strike you as you enter, are only the general circumstances 
of her condition, to which she has always been accustomed, 
and which produce no suffering, and awaken no feeling of 
discontent ; and she is in fact only an object of compassion, 
just as all other persons are who are sick, whatever may be 
the aspect of the chamber where they are confined. 

The wise course now, in such a case, is plainly not to come 
with a profusion of aid, so as to break in upon and derange 
the operations of that neighborhood. Just encdurage, and 
aid, and help forward those operations. Sit a few minutes 
by the bedside, and tell the patient you are glad she has so 
many comforts, and that her neighbors are so kind to her. 
Inquire if there is any thing in addition to what they do for 
her that she wants. If there is, supply her as much as pos- 
sible through them. Aid one a little in obtaining wood 
when it is really wanted. Ask another whether a physician 
is necessary, and if so, what one is generally employed in that 
neighborhood, and help them to obtain him. Thus strengthen 
and encourage and aid the sympathy and charity which is at 
hand, and on which the sufferer must after all mainly rely. 

Or suppose you take the other course. Regardless of what 
has been done and is doing for her, you come and break sud- 
denly in upon the system of kind attentions which neighbors 
and friends had arranged, and by the comparatively profuse 
supplies which you can easily render, you make all that they 
had done appear insignificant and worthless. Soon after 
your visit, one neighbor comes in and finds what she would 
call a rich counterpane upon the bed, while the coarse blanket 
which she had made considerable effort and sacrifice to lend 
to the patient, is thrown aside. Another enters and sees a 



139 



great blazing fire upon the hearth, — the little stock of wood 
which she had contributed, and which she had been frugally- 
using, all consumed, and its place supplied by your extrava- 
gant contribution. They see immediately that the case is 
taken out of their hands. They were helping the poor trav- 
eler along the rough road of life, but you have interfered and 
taken her into your carriage, and they can not keep up with 
you. They are discouraged, and give up their neighbor in 
despair of helping her any more. The feeling is worse than 
that of despair. They will, in nine cases out of ten, look 
with envy and jealousy upon your profuse benefactions, and 
their compassion for their suffering neighbor, will be turned 
to dislike, by your having raised her above themselves. 

A physician was once called to prescribe for a sick woman 
in the cabin of an Irish laborer upon a Massachusetts rail- 
road. It was in the depth of winter, the thermometer rang- 
ing from zero to twenty degrees below The rude cabin was 
made of posts driven 
into the ground, cov- 
ered with boards, — 
rough upon the sides 
and untrimmed at the 
edges. Similar boards, 
rudely overlapping each 
■ather, constituted the 
roof. The house was 
banked up upon the 
outside with turf and 
stones for several feet ; 
but above, the cold 
winds of the winter 
whistled through the 
innumerable crevices 
of so rude a structure. 




140 THE WAY TO BO GOOD. 

Description of the interior. The physician's visit. 

Within, there was hut one apartment ; a fire hurned in a 
corner, — the fireplace heing little more than the angle of the 
wall, from which the smoke ascended through a chimney of 
loose stones, topped out, as the masons say, with a couple of 
barrels. Wear the entrance, two short posts were driven into 
the turf, — for the natural surface of the ground was the only 
floor, — and cross-pieces nailed from one of them to the other 
and from each to the wall, constituted the bedstead. A. cov- 
ering of boards answered instead of cord or sacking. The 
door, if it may be called a door, was near ; for in order to 
leave as much room as possible for the numerous occupants 
of the cabin, the bedstead had been built, though probably 
not in anticipation of sickness, as far as possible from the fire. 
One cold morning the physician came to pay his last visit, 
as his patient was decidedly convalescent. He found as usual 
the neighbors around the bed, in a wintry atmosphere utterly 
unaffected by the fire, in the remote corner of the room. Pa- 
tient and visitors were 
however all talking 
merrily together, amus- 
ing themselves with 
an infant child lying 
by the mother's side. 
\T~f} ~~ ||l§ After making the cus- 

~y_i : .;~" ■ .-.'"' 

then leaving the gen- 

©La*. b - - llls'll eral directions and 

good wishes which 
usually attend the last 
visit to convalescence, 
he was about going 
; i 4J|yb* away, when one of the 

visitors, who lived in 

THE INTERIOR. • , ■, -i- 

]ust such a cabin. 



c 




THE POOR. 141 

A mediation. The wise course. Last direction. 

walked upon just such a floor, and slept upon just such, a 
bed, — if indeed she ever, except in sickness, enjoyed the lux- 
ury of any bed at all, — after some whispering consultation 
with the others, took him to one side to plead for a moderate 
charge in the way of fee ; for, as she said gravely, "this 
woman and her husband are rather poor, and have hard work 
to get along !" 

Now the point I have in view, in introducing this scene to 
the reader's attention, is just to make this remark at the close 
of it, namely, that the benevolence of blind feeling would 
have refused a fee altogether in this case, and have left, be- 
sides, some extravagant donation in money, or in something 
else. But a man, benevolent on principle, — wise and cir- 
cumspect, would have done just as the physician did in this 
case, suffer himself to be persuaded to take only a partial fee, 
and go away with that, — leaving the patient to feel that she 
was independent, not living upon charity, and the neighbors 
to see that through their friendly intervention they had done 
their friend a real service, by diminishing the charges of her 
sickness. Fifty dollars could not be expended upon such a 
family and neighborhood, in a way to do more good among 
them, than that effected by the simple influence of the proper 
course in such a case as this. So much more important is it 
to encourage the ignorant classes to help themselves and one 
another, than to lead them to lean upon the charity of the 
wealthy. 

The last direction which we have to give, is to be cautious 
in regard to all public, known, established organizations fo 
the relief of the poor. I do not say oppose them nor refuse 
to aid them, but watch them. They who have been most 
intimately acquainted with the operation of all systematic 
and well-known charities, unite in saying that though they 
relieve a great deal of actual want which could not have 
been avoided, yet that the great general result which is pro- 



142 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Public charity. Its abuses. Cause of pauperism 

duced by them is to lead the mass of the poor, that is, of the 
idle, the dissipated, and the vicious, to calculate upon their 
aid, as a part of their regular resources ; — and to enable them 
to carry to a still farther point their idleness, dissipation, and 
vice, without being called to account by that stern master, 
hunger. There is no doubt that the public poor, and the 
beneficiaries of private charitable associations, both in Eng- 
land and America, calculate in many instances almost as 
much upon their winter's aid, as a bank stock-holder does 
upon his dividend, — and they make as regular an allowance 
for it, in the industry and economy which they practise in the 
working season. We do not see this, — we hardly believe it 
when it is proved, — so strong is that mysterious delusion by 
which we always connect the idea of innocence with that of 
suffering. But the influence of all well-known and public 
arrangements for distributing to the necessities of the able- 
bodied poor, is unquestionably of this sort, and they demand 
the most careful attention. These arrangements are indeed 
sometimes needed. But they ought not to be needed in any 
country. There must be something wrong in the state of 
society where they are demanded, and statesmen and philan- 
thropists should set themselves at work to discover and cor- 
rect this wrong, rather than vainly to attempt to remove the 
symptomatic sufferings which come from it. 

If in any community there are large masses of the population 
who can not by their labor procure their support, it is plain 
that this must be owing to something wrong in the constitu- 
tion and condition of society there ; for the products of the 
general industry are amply sufficient for the general support. 
There can be no question that the cultivated portions of the 
earth, do or might produce a very plentiful supply, both of 
food and clothing, for all the inhabitants. If, therefore, any 
go unsupplied, it must be either that they can not labor to 



THE POOR. 143 

Its remedy. Too much ignorant labor. 

advantage, or that they are, by faulty institutions or customs, 
deprived of their just and fair reward. 

The ignorant can not work to advantage, because in most 
civilized communities at the present day, there is too much 
ignorant labor to supply the demand. To carry forward the 
operations of society by which food and clothing are produced, 
manufactured, transported, and exchanged, there is demand- 
ed a certain amount of intelligence, a certain amount of in- 
ventive power, a certain amount of manual dexterity, and a 
certain amount of mere labor. If there is an undue supply 
of either of these, the reward for that which is in excess, 
must sink ; for the fair proportion of the product of the com- 
mon industry will in effect fall to each class, and must be 
divided among them ; and where the claimants are numer- 
ous, the dividend must be small. Now the market for labor, 
almost throughout the civilized world, is glutted, while the 
demand for skill and intelligence is but moderately supplied. 
The reason is, that vast numbers have let themselves sink 
by their vices to ignorance and degradation, where they can 
do nothing but labor ; and society have allowed the mighty 
mass to accumulate, by not making proper efforts to save 
their children. While thus the supply of mere muscular 
force has been increasing, the demand has been diminishing, 
for the progress of civilization is continually finding ways of 
accomphslnng by the intelligence and skill of the few, what 
was before effected by the blind labor of the many. This 
double influence has gone on until at length, in England, 
while the means of comfort and happiness among the uppei 
classes of society are as abundant as they are in any part of 
the world, there are far more than enough of the ignorant 
and degraded who can do nothing but labor, to do all tht 
labor there is to be done. The consequence is their pay is 
reduced to the very lowest extreme, through a competition 
sharpened by hunger, and urged on by despair ; and still 



144 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 



there are hundreds of thousands who must be fed by the pub- 
lic or starve. Common sense points out the remedy. En- 
lightening and educating them, and their children, so as to 
raise a portion of them from the ranks of mere blind, igno- 
rant laborers, where they are not wanted, to spheres of action 
where they can sustain themselves, and promote the general 
welfare by intelligence and skill. 

In a word, poverty and suffering in this world are gener- 
ally only the symptoms of ignorance and sin. Let us miti- 
gate the symptoms where they are severe. It is our imperi- 
ous duty to do so. But the great object to be accomplished 
is to cure the disease. 



PROMOTION OF PERSONAL PIETY. 145 

Connection between sin and suffering. 



CHAPTER V. 



PROMOTION OF PERSONAL PIETY. 



1 He that converteth the sinner from the error of his ways, shall save a soul from 
death, and hide a multitude of sins." 



It seems thus, from what we have said in the last chapter, 
that we can not sunder the connection between sin and suffer- 
ing ; and there is a little additional light thrown upon our 
duty in respect to the way to do good in this world, by the 
circumstance that God who can, ivill not. He might easily 
and at once, put a final end to all the miseries which men 
are everywhere bringing upon themselves by their sins. 
How readily might he, by a word, restore every broken 
constitution, — and bring back to prosperity every wretched 
and ruined family, — and heal every corroding and cankering 
disease, — and quiet the agitations of remorse and despair. 
But he will not. He has chosen to connect by the most 
fixed and steady laws, suffering with sin, and it is remark- 
able how exclusively all his plans of doing good to men go, 
for their object, toward removing the cause, and not toward 
disturbing this established connection between cause and 
consequence. He has determined that the way of transgres- 
sion must be hard. If man breaks his laws and lives in sin, 
he will not relieve him of the penalties, and he puts it utter- 
ly out of our power to afford any effectual relief. Thus he 
cuts off from man all hope of happiness except from the 
abandonment of sin. 

G 



146 THE WAY TO DO GOOD 

Divine and human benevolence Expectations of the young. 

There is thus a great difference between human philan« 
thropy and divine philanthropy in their way of working. 
Men are always attempting to stop suffering directly. God's 
plans are always aimed against sin. God sends prophets 
and preachers to teach. He publishes his commands. He 
makes known his threatenings. He displays conspicuously 
on this theater the moral example of his Son. He gives the 
innocent victim to death to make atonement for our sins, and 
by his Spirit gently draws the heart to penitence and sub- 
mission. Man, on the other hand, establishes the public 
infirmary, — gives money to the vicious beggar, — provides, 
publicly for the poor, — and builds the foundling hospital. 
Let no one understand me to say that these things are wrong. 
Some are undoubtedly right, and others may be wrong. It 
is most plainly our duty to do the little that we can to alle- 
viate the sorrows and sufferings of humanity, even if these 
sorrows are caused by sin. All we mean here to say is that 
we are prone, very prone, to turn our attention too exclu- 
sively to such efforts, though they must be extremely limited 
in their success, and must often create far more misery than 
they relieve. The great work of benevolence in this world, 
is the work of co-operating with God in attempting to re- 
deem THE HUMAN RACE FROM ITS SINS, 

The young readers, for whom this book is principally in- 
tended, will doubtless feel somewhat surprised and perhaps 
a little disappointed at this view of the case. In early life 
we look upon the relief of bodily suffering as the great way 
of doing good, and we regard money as the most power- 
ful and ready means of effecting it. If we feel any benev 
olent desires, they flow out in this channel, and we look for- 
ward with eager interest to the time when we shall possess 
means of our own for the accomplishment of such plans. If 
there are such among our readers, they will feel disappointed 
and discouraged by the representations which were made iij 



PROMOTION OF PERSONAL PIETY. M7 

The only way to do real and permanent good. 

the last chapter. But the representations, thoi.gh discourag- 
ing, are true. The more you reflect upon it, the more you 
will be satisfied that God has so arranged the circumstances 
of human life, and so intimately and inextricably intertwined 
moral and physical e\il, that the latter admits of no separate 
remedy. 

If, then, you wish to devote your life to the work of doing 
good, you must devote it to a warfare against sin. You can 
do nothing effectual in any other way. You may as well 
attempt to hold back the tides of the ocean, or to exclude in- 
sects from the forest, or clouds from the sky, as to fence off 
hunger, and loathsome disease, and squalid misery, from a 
community filled with sin. On the other hand, make the 
most wretched outcast in the world, whose sufferings are 
caused by his vice, a Christian, and the work is done. No 
matter for your alms, his faith will save him. Regeneration 
cuts up the root of wretchedness, and every bitter fruit will 
soon disappear. The ragged, hungry, diseased, and miserable 
vagabond will soon be found clothed and in his right mind. 
Temperance and purity will restore his health, and industry 
and frugality will supply every need ; — and the wretched 
suppliant for relief which he never could receive, will become 
the possessor of independent happiness, and the , dispenser of 
enjoyment to a little circle around him. 

As we have already remarked, this should not prevent our 
doing the little that we can to give temporary relief to the 
sorrows and sufferings of men. "We must not leave even 
guilt to bear its burdens, with the stern reproach that it de- 
serves them all. We must feed the hungry, and clothe the 
naked, and visit the sick, and do them all the good in our 
power. No person who reads the precepts or observes the 
example of Jesus Christ, can possibly doubt this. Still we 
must remember that after we have done all that we can in 
this way, we have, in fact, done comparatively nothing. 



148 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Power of moral sympathy. Experiment with a child. 

The great source of the difficulty remains untouched, and we 
accomplish nothing effectual or permanent for the good of 
man, except so far as we promote his salvation from sin. 

We come now, therefore, to consider the great means by 
which this is to he done. 

Our Savior's plan for the extension of Christianity in the 
world, was, that the spirit of piety should spread from heart 
to heart, by a sort of moral contagion. There was provision 
made, it is true, for argument to convince, and instruction to 
enlighten, and threatenings to awe mankind ; hut from the 
whole tenor of the Savior's preaching, and his whole course 
of conduct, it is plain that he relied mostly upon that practi- 
cal manifestation of the power of religion which he himself 
and his disciples were to make to men. The various meta- 
phors which he used all indicate how much he expected from 
the moral influence of a hright Christian example. It is sur- 
prising what an influence man has over man, hy the mere 
contagion of moral feeling. Such is human nature, that the 
mere existence and exhibition of a feeling, right or wrong, in 
one heart, awakens its like in the hearts that are around it. 
A good sentiment, or a had one is spread among men hy the 
simple expression of it, more than hy the reasoning by which 
it is supported. Men catch the spirit of it, and their hearts 
vibrate in unison ; as one cord, though untouched, echoes 
back the musical tune that is sounded by another. 

Few persons understand how great this influence is, which 
heart exerts over heart by moral sympathy. And yet you 
can easily see, by many simple experiments, how much 
stronger it is than the power of cold argument, or the influ- 
ence of a calculation on rewards or punishments to come. 
We can, as usual with moral experiments, test it most easily 
with a child. Suppose his mother is sick in her bed-room, 
and you wish him to be quiet and still, that she may t est ; or 



PROMOTION OF PERSONAL PIETY. 149 

The power of persuasion and of sympathy compared. 

rather, you do not merely wish to produce silence mechanical- 
ly, but you wish to awaken such a feeling of love and inter- 
est and sympathy for his mother, in the mind of the child, 
that he shall take pleasure in being still. Now you may try 
1 wo methods. First, argument and persuasion ; you may 
call him to your side, and tell him how sick his mother is, 
— how kind she has always been to him when he was sick, — 
how greatly noise disturbs her, and how clearly it is his duty 
to avoid increasing her sickness or her suffering. You may, 
perhaps, by such a conversation, produce a slight momentary 
impression ; but you will more probably find by the ill-con- 
cealed restlessness and the wandering looks of your pupil, 
that your labor is in vain. 

Now try the power of moral sympathy. Take your little 
pupil by the hand, and say to him, " Come, we will go and 
see mother." As you lead him by slow steps, up the stair- 
case, talk thus. You will observe that it is not reasoning or 
persuasion, but only an audible expression of your own feel- 
ings, intended to awaken, by the power of sympathy, similar 
feelings in him. 

" Poor mother ! I am sorry she is sick. We will walk 
very carefully and softly, so as not to disturb her. I will 
open the door very gently. There," — (in a very gentle and 
subdued tone ;) — " she will hardly know that we are coming. 
We will not disturb poor mother. I hope she will get well ; 
we will be kind to her and be still, so that she may soon get 
well." 

They who have observed the character and feelings of the 
human heart, as exhibited in childhood, will understand bow 
readily the little pupil, as he is walking up the stairs, will 
catch the spirit exhibited so near him. His loud step will 
be hushed into the most cautious tread. His boisterous voice 
will subside to a low murmuring sound, and he will stand, at 
last, by his mother's bedside, full, for the moment at least, of 



150 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

The children in a thunder-storm. Light ; salt ; leaven. 

the feelings of love, and compassion, and interest, which you 
wish to awaken. You have awakened them simply hy the 
power of moral sympathy. You brought his heart near to 
yours, and kindled his hy the flame that was in your own. 

It is so with men as well as with children. They catch 
the spirit of moral feeling from one another, to an extent of 
which the great mass of mankind have a very inadequate 
conception. It is so, too, with almost every kind of feeling. 

Let a father come home among his terrified children, in a 
thunder-storm, and without his saying a word, his look of 
calm composure, and his quiet air will reassure them all. It 
will do far more than words. Nay, argument and reason- 
ing would only interfere with its effect. Far the wisest course, 
in such a case, if the father perceived that his children were 
terrified, would he to say not a word about safety ; but while 
talking of other things, to depend upon the children's catch 
ing the spirit of composure from him. Fear will spread thus, 
too, as well as courage. On the field of battle, when a few 
are thoroughly terrified, it is a most desperate effort only, 
which can prevent universal panic and flight. It is not that 
the danger is greater, or that it is better understood ; — but 
that human hearts, when together, tend strongly to beat in 
unison, and where some go wrong, they draw on others to 
ruin with them, by this mysterious contagion. 

The contest which is going on in the world, between good 
and evil, is a contest of feeling, more than one of argument. 
Bad principles and bad passions spread by the direct action 
of heart upon heart, and good principles, and benevolent and 
holy emotions, appeal in the same way to the consciences of 
men, with far greater power than any other moral causes. 
This is the reason why our Savior laid so much stress upon 
the power and influence of Christian example. His followers 
were to be the light of the world. They were to be the salt 
which purifies and saves by its presence, and by its direct 



PROMOTION OF PERSONAL PIETY. 151 

The Savior's moral power. Sermons. The mother. 

and salutary action. They were to be the leaven, which 
communicates its own properties to the mass which surrounds 
it, by the simple influence of its touch. In many ways, 
Jesus Christ plainly showed how much he expected would 
be accomplished by the moral power of the mere presence 
and manifestations of piety in the midst of a world lying 
in sin. 

He ordained many other modes of exerting influence to 
spread his kingdom. But they all depended for their success, 
in a great measure, on being connected with this. The gos- 
pel was to be preached everywhere, but its practical effects 
upon the lives of those who embraced it, were to give power 
to this preaching. In fact, it was our Savior's charactei 
which gave their immense effect to his instructions ; and 
Paul, if he had been a selfish, worldly man, might have de- 
claimed against sin in Jerusalem, or Athens, or Rome, foi 
half a century in vain. The rapid progress of true religion 
in early times was undoubtedly owing, in a great measure, 
to the lofty standard of practical piety by which the instruc- 
tions of public preaching were enforced. The pulse of ardent 
love to God, and true benevolence to man, beat high and 
strong in the hearts of the early Christians ; and the ivarm 
fire is the one which spreads easily. 

It has been the same in principle ever since those days. 
The efforts which have been most successful in bringing men 
to repentance and salvation have been, not those connected 
with the most powerful arguing, or the most distinguished 
eloquence, or the most adroit manceuvers ; but those which 
have originated in, and been sustained by, + ,he warmest and 
most devoted piety. Thus many of the most successful ser- 
mons have had little literary merit. It was the warm and 
unaffected spirit of the preacher, which awakened, by sym- 
pathy, the moral susceptibilities of the hearer. Many a 
mother, in despair of doing any thing herself for her child 



152 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

The way by which religion is to be spread. 

out to pray for him, has supplied hy the warmth and heart- 
felt interest of the prayers which she has uttered in his 
presence, the very means of his conversion, — so far as human 
means can go. The holy and heavenly spirit which has 
glowed in her heart, the love of the Savior, the hatred of sin, 
the desire for spiritual union with God, have been made the 
means, hy divine grace, of awakening the moral susceptibili- 
ties in the heart of her child. Conscience has been aroused, 
and the lost child saved ; — while the sons and daughters of 
many a profound theologian, of far more extensive religious 
knowledge, but of a more lukewarm heart, have gone down, 
notwithstanding all parental efforts, to the grave in sin. 
And so it has often happened that some obscure and solitary 
Christian, living in want, and seeing all the world above 
him, has spent year after year, thinking that he does no good, 
and can do none, and wondering why God should spare a 
useless tree so long. And yet, though he knew it not, the 
light and the influence of his Christian example have been 
seen and felt all around him. The spirit which has reigned 
within his bosom, has spread, by sympathy, to many others ; 
and it has often aroused conscience, and held back a soul 
from many of its sins, where it could not win it completely 
to holiness ; and thus God keeps this his humble follower 
on the stage of action, as one of the most efficient laborers 
in his vineyard, while he himself knows not why he is spared. 
Yes, holiness itself, is the great instrument by which holiness 
is to be spread. It will work most powerfully itself, by its 
mere existence and manifestation ; and it must give to every 
other means, almost their whole efficiency, in acting upon 
the human soul. Thus the extension of Christianity in the 
world, is not to be the triumph of argument, nor the success 
of manceuvers, — but the spread of feeling from heart to 
heart, by a moral sympathy, which God by his grace will 
make effectual to moral renewal. 



PROMOTION OF PERSONAL PIETY. 153 

Preparation. Honesty. Assumed Interest in religion. 

If then, my reader, you wish to devote your life to the 
work of doing good in the most effectual manner, or rather, 
in the only effectual manner, the main work before you, is 
the work of saving souls, by cherishing yourself, and extend- 
ing from yourself to others, the spirit of holy obedience to 
God, and love to men. This general principle being, I trust, 
established, it remains only to give some plain and practisal 
directions for carrying it into effect. 

I. THE PREPARATION. 

1. Be sure that you are sincere and honest. We very 
often detect ourselves in assuming involuntarily, and almost 
insensibly, an air and tone of deep feeling in our prayers and 
in our conversation, which we do not really possess. We 
know that unless we are ourselves interested in religious duty, 
it is in vain to attempt to interest others in it, and we mis- 
take appearing interested, for actually being so. How often 
do we observe in others an affected seriousness of counte- 
nance and solemnity of tone. How often do we detect our- 
selves in assuming it. Hypocrisy is one of the forms of sin 
into which the human heart, prone to iniquity, most easily 
and continually slides. It is one which the most sincere and 
devoted Christian finds continually taking possession of his 
heart, under a thousand shapes and disguises. But our 
hypocrisy seldom deceives any but ourselves. The world 
are quick to detect the difference between what is natural 
and what is affected and assumed. It is real interest in 
religion, — real, heart-felt attachment to God, and honest, 
friendly interest in man, which the Spirit of God makes use 
-yf as a means to touch the feelings of others, and to arouse 
conscience, and awaken a sense of obligation to God ; while 
the affectation of what is not possessed is a slim disguise, 
which the instinct of mankind detects at once, and repels. 
Be honest, then. Be natural. If you really feel any warm- 

G* 



154 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Interest in hum in salvation. Companions; friends; neighbors. 

hearted interest in those around you, let your words and 
actions freely show it ; but if you do not, guard most care- 
fully against the attempt to feign any. I do not mean, guard 
against a deliberate and understood intention to impose upon 
men ; for those only, who are utterly destitute of piety will 
be guilty of this ; but watch your heart, lest, adroit as it 
is in eluding your vigilance and running away into sin, it 
should escape you here. If you are aware that the real, 
unfeigned interest which you feel in the progress of God's 
kingdom and the salvation of sinners, is not enough to enable 
you to go forward with much success, you must not attempt 
to remedy the difficulty by exhibiting more of the appear- 
ance, but by securing more of the reality. This brings us to 
the second of the directions we proposed to give. 

2. Cultivate a genuine interest in the salvation of men, 
by appropriate meditation and prayer. It should be a part 
of our daily duty, in our hours of retirement and devotion, 
to bring the spiritual condition and prospects of our neigh- 
bors and friends distinctly before our minds. We have in 
the ordinary walks of life so many mere business dealings 
with those around us, that we soon come to consider them 
in the light of mere business or social connections. The 
merchant or mechanic whom we meet with every day, we 
soon come to consider as merely a merchant or mechanic, 
— we think of him as a workman, — we look at his character 
in a business point of view, and after a short time we cease 
to regard him as an immortal being going to the judgment, 
and destined to an eternity of holy happiness or of wretch- 
edness and sin. We forget that he has a soul to be saved, 
and that the responsibility of doing something to promote 
its salvation, devolves upon us. Now, this disposition to 
overlook the spiritual condition and prospects of our fellow- 
men, is one which we can avoid only by continued medita- 
tion and prayer. We must have time, *vhen, in the privacy 



PROMOTION OF PERSONAL PIETY. 155 

Prayer. A test of sincere prayer. 

of the closet, we may regard our fellow-men. as tliey are, — 
and see their true spiritual condition ; when we may look at 
our neighbors and friends with a view to their prospects as 
immortal beings. 

And we must not only think of the character and condition 
of our companions and friends in respect to their prospects 
for eternity, but a part of our daily duty must be, honest, 
heartfelt prayer for them. I do not mean that we must 
utter a cold form of petition, asking in general terms for the 
conversion of sinners, and for the extension of God's kingdom. 
We all do this as a matter of course. The language forms 
a part of every prayer, and it is uttered by thousands every 
day, who feel none of the desires they seem to express. 
What I mean by really praying for sinners is a very different 
thing. 

Sincere prayer for the conversion of souls must spring from 
a distinct view of their spiritual danger, and an honest desire 
that they may be rescued from sin and its consequences. We 
must think of our neighbors and friends, of a parent, a hus- 
band or a child, as an enemy of God, justly obnoxious to his 
anger, and actually condemned already. With our hearts 
full of compassion for them, and sorrow for the awful fate 
which we see impending over them, we must go alone before 
God, and pour out our whole souls before him in fervent sup- 
plication that he will have mercy upon them and save them. 
It is not the cold repetition of a form of words, to which 
we have become so habituated that we can not well construct 
a prayer without it, that will prevail with God. It is the 
warm, deep fervency of the heart, that feels for the sorrows 
and sufferings which it wishes to relieve. 

There is one test of genuine prayer for sinners which is so 
simple and so easily applied that I can not forbear mention- 
ing it here. It is the freedom with which particular cases 
are brought before God. 



156 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Religious emotion. Nature and province of it. Illustration. 

When our devotions are cold and formal, we content our- 
selves with generalities ; but when prayer comes from the 
heart, it is dictated by feelings of strong compassion, and this 
compassion is awaked by considering the spiritual wants, and 
the gloomy spiritual prospects, of individuals,. We shall 
bring these individual cases before God. We shall come with 
our neighbors, our acquaintances, — the one who walks with 
us to church, or who sits in the same seat ; or our friend, or 
our parent, or our child. We shall bring the individual 
case to God, with strong crying and tears, that God would 
save them, those particular individuals, from the woes and 
sufferings which we see hanging over their heads. 

3. Do not, however, lay too much stress upon religious 
emotion. One of the most common religious errors of the 
present day, is, the habit of confounding religious interest 
with religious emotion. Interest in religion is our constant 
duty. Emotion is one of the forms which this interest occa- 
sionally assumes. Now many persons confound the two, and 
think they are in a cold, stupid state, unless their hearts are 
full of a deep, overwhelming emotion. They struggle con- 
tinually to awaken and to sustain this emotion, and are dis- 
tressed and disappointed that they can not succeed. They 
fail, for the obvious reason that the human heart is incapable 
of long-continued emotion of any kind, when in a healthy 
state. Susceptibility of emotion is given by the Creator for 
wise and good purposes, but it is intended to be an occasional, 
not an habitual state of the mind ; and, in general, our duty 
is to control, rather than to cherish it. 

For example, a man loves his wife and his little children, 
and thinks that he may promote their permanent good in the 
world, by removing to a new home in the West, where he 
can make his labors far more effectual in laying a founda- 
tion for their wealth and prosperity, than he can in the home 
of his own childhood. He sets off, therefore, on the long and 



PROMOTION OF PERSONAL PIETY. 



157 



The trav slier at the V\'t;st. 



toilsome journey, to explore the ground and prepare the way 
for them to follow. As soon as he gets fairly on the confines 
of the settled country, his mind is daily engrossed by labors 
and cares. Kow, he is toiling over the rough and miry road, 
— now hesitating upon the bank of a rapid stream, — now 
inaking his slow and tedious way through the unbroken 
forest, his mind intent in studying the marks of the trees, or 
the faint traces of the Indian's path. During all this time, 
he feels no emotion of love for his wife and children, but his 
mind is under the continued influence of the strongest possible 
interest in them. It is love for them which carries him on, 
every step of the way. It is this that animates him, this 
that cheers and sustains ; while he perhaps very seldom 
pauses in his labors and cares, in order to bring them dis- 
tinctly to his mind, and fill his heart with the Sowings of a 
sentimental affection. 



At length, however, 
at some solitary post- 
office, in the cabin of a 
settler, he finds a letter 
from home, and he lays 
the reins upon his sad- 
dle-bow, and reads the 
welcome pages, while 
his horse willing to rest, 
walks slowly through 
the forest. 

As he reads sentence 
after sentence of the 
message which has 
thus found its way to 
him from his distant 
home, his ardent affec- 
tion for the loved one? 



m 




m 



THE POST-OFFICE. 



there, which has, through the day, 



158 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 



remained calm within, a quiet and steady principle of action, 
awakes and begins to agitate his bosom with more active 
emotions ; and when, at the close of the letter, he comes to a 
little postscript, rudely printed, asking " father to come home 
soon," it calls to his mind so forcibly that round and happy 
face which smiled upon him from the steps of the door when 
he came away, that his heart is full. He does not love these 
absent ones any more than he did before ; but his love for 
them takes for the moment a different form. Nor is it that 
his affection is merely in a greater state of intensity than usual, 
at such a time. It is in a totally different state ; different 
in its nature, and different, nay, the reverse in its tendency. 
For while love, as a principle of action, would carry him 
forward to labor with cheerfulness and zeal for the future 
good of his family, — love, as a mere emotion, tends to 
destroy all his interest in going forward, and to lead him to 
turn round in his path, and to seek his shortest way back 
to his home. He readily perceives this, and though the 
indulgence of such feelings may be delightful, he struggles 
to put them down. He suppresses the tear which fills his 
eye, — folds up his letter, — spurs on his horse, and instead of 
considering the state of emotion, the one to be cultivated, as 
the only genuine evidence of true love, he regards it rather as 
one to be controlled and suppressed, as interfering with the 
duties and objects of genuine affection. 

Now the discrimination, which it is the design of the fore- 
going case to set in a strong light, is very often not made in 
religion. But it should be made. Piety, if it exists at all, 
must exist generally as a calm and steady principle of action, 
changing its form and manifesting itself as religious emotion 
only occasionally. The frequency of these emotions, and the 
depth of the religious feeling which they will awaken, de- 
pend upon a thousand circumstances, entirely independent of 
the true spiritual condition of the soul. The physical influ- 



PROMOTION OF PERSONAL PIETY. 159 

Conditions of religious emotion. Wasted efforts. 

ences by which we are surrounded, — the bodily temperament, 
— the state of the health, — the degree of pressure of active 
duty, — the social circumstances in which we are placed, — ■ 
the season, the hour, the scenery, — a thousand things, may, 
by the combined influence of some or of all of them, fill the 
heart with religious emotion, — provided that the principle of 
religion be already established there. But we must not sup- 
pose that religion is quiescent and inactive at other times. 
Religion, is, to say the least, quite as active a principle, when 
it leads a man to his work in the cause of God, as when in 
his retirement, it swells his heart with spiritual joys. They 
are, in fact, two distinct forms which the same principle 
assumes, and we can not compare one with the other so as to 
assign to either the pre-eminence. Neither can exist hi a 
genuine state without some measure of the other. It is, 
however, undoubtedly the former which is the great test of 
Christian character. It is the former which we are to strive 
to establish in our hearts, and in which we may depend 
upon making steady and certain progress just in proportion 
to the faithfuhiess of our vigilance and the sincerity of our 
prayers. 

But in point of fact, the attention of Christians, in their 
efforts to make progress in piety, very often looks almost 
exclusively to the latter. They think that continued reli- 
gious emotion is the only right frame of mind, — while, in 
fact, the human mind is so constituted that continued emo- 
tion of any kind is consistent only with insanity. They toil 
and struggle for emotion, — but they labor in vain, for emo- 
tion of any kind is just the very last thing to come by being 
toiled and struggled for. The result is, therefore, either a 
feeling of dejection and confirmed despondency — or else the 
gradual cultivation of a morbid sentimentalism, which has 
nothing but the semblance of piety. 

Our business, then, is in our efforts to bring our hearts in 



160 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Struggling for feeling. The agency of the Holy Spirit. 

a right state in respect to God's kingdom in this world, to 
cultivate a steady, healthy, active interest in it, — not to strug- 
gle in vain for continued religious emotion. If the one really 
reigns over us, it will lead us to exactly the right sort of 
effort in God's cause ; and it will bring to our hearts many 
happy seasons of the other, in our hours of retirement, medi- 
tation, and prayer. 

4. It must be your habitual feeling in all your plans for 
the salvation of souls, that you are and can be only the in- 
strument, — that the only efficient means of success must be a 
divine influence exerted upon the soul. Consider often how 
radical, how entire is the change which you wish to effect. 
If you only desired to alter a friend's course of conduct, by 
showing him another in which he might more safely and 
certainly gratify the reigning desires and affections of his 
heart, you might perhaps do it by the mere natural effect of 
the information you might give. But here, it is the very 
desires and affections of the heart themselves which you wish 
to .change. You are going to offer him the communion and 
friendship of God. It is just the very thing he would most 
dislike and avoid. He would rather have God away than 
near. You are going to offer him forgiveness of sin, through 
Jesus Christ, his Savior. Far from valuing the forgiveness 
of sir\, which implies the abandonment of it, it is the con- 
tinued commission of sin which he most eagerly clings to. 
The terms of salvation, and the duties arising from them, 
are humbling : he is perhaps hesitating whether he can com- 
ply with terms so disagreeable. He is naturally proud. He 
can be pleased only with what is lofty. Now his heart must 
be changed, so that he shall love these very terms, and love 
them on the very account of their humiliating character. He 
never can be saved until he so feels his sins, and the attitude 
in which he stand? toward God, as to find the lowest place be- 
fore the throne of God the one to which he comes easily and 



PROMOTION OF PERSONAL PIETY. 161 



Greatness of the change. 



with pleasure, and where he finds the greatest peace and 
happiness. You do not come, therefore, to show the soul a 
new way to get what it loves, hut you come to lead it to love 
what it most dislikes and avoids. Humility, penitence, a 
lowly walk with God, the ceaseless presence and restraints 
of divine communion, escape from sin and every sinful pleas- 
ure, and the absorbing of the soul in holy spiritual joys ; — 
these favors, invaluable as they really are, are not such as 
we can expect mankind to welcome, if left to themselves. 
In some cases, that is, when you act in coincidence with the 
desires and affections of the heart, the more clearly and dis- 
tinctly you present reasonable claims, the more certain it is 
that they will be adopted. But the more clearly and dis- 
tinctly you offer these spiritual blessings to the world, the 
more open and unequivocal will be the decision with which 
they reject them. For in their very nature they run exactly 
counter to, and across, all their natural feelings and wishes 
and desires. God must work in them, both to will and to 
do. While you kindly invite, he must move their hearts to 
love the boon you offer, and to accept the invitation. You 
must always feel this. It will make you quiet, lowly, sub- 
missive. You will walk humbly and softly before God in 
your labors to promote his cause, and it will be safe for him 
to give you success. 

" Walk humbly and softly before God :" there is a great 
meaning in these words. Like children, who go out with 
their father to a work of difficulty or danger, too much for 
their feeble powers. They walk quietly by his side. They 
speak to him with subdued voices, and walk with cautious 
steps, looking up to him for direction, and trusting to his 
strength for success. Just so the Christian should walk, in 
his path of active duty in this world, — humbly and softly by 
the side of his Father. 



J 62 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

The measures, Examination of the gri und. 

These suggestions we have offered in respect to the prep- 
aration, — the state of heart appropriate to the work of saving 
souls. "We now come to consider the measures necessary in 
the work itself. 

THE MEASURES. 

1. Explore fully the spiritual field around you. Not a 
little of good fails of being accomplished in this world, on ac- 
count of its not being known how easily it might be done. 
Now every Christian, in his daily routine of business and of 
intercourse with society, finds himself placed in a little sphere 
of duty, which he ought to consider as assigned especially to 
him. The portion of the vineyard by which he is imme- 
diately surrounded, is the one which it is his peculiar prov- 
ince to till. And he ought, first of all, to make himself care- 
fully acquainted with its conditions. We ought to make it 
our business to learn, by delicate, and gentle, and proper 
methods, — the actual spiritual condition of our acquaintances 
and friends, so as to be ready to act when there is opportu- 
nity for action. Hollow-hearted and hypocritical zeal, in at- 
tempting to do this, will run itself into continual difficulties ; 
and by its coarse, obtrusive, and censorious spirit, close up 
against itself every avenue to the heart. But humble, unas- 
suming, and heartfelt piety, warm with sincere attachment 
to the Savior, and honest benevolence toward men, will in- 
stinctively know how to accomplish this work without friction 
or noise. 

The truth is, that there exists to a far greater extent than 
is generally supposed, among impenitent persons in every 
Christian land, a disposition to listen, at least, to the claims 
of religion, and to appreciate efforts for their salvation, made 
in honest good-will. While the heart rises against holiness, 
union with God, and other spiritual blessings, it still shrinks 
from the prospect of perpetual and ceaseless sin ; and he who 



PROMOTION OF PERSONAL PIETY. 163 

Popularity of our Savior's preaching. Limitation of the principle. 

endeavors to save his neighbors and friends from this ruin, 
will find that though they may reject the salvation offered, 
and still cling to sin, they will generally feel a sentiment of 
kindness only toward him who faithfully offered it. It was 
so with our Savior's preaching, the common impression to the 
contrary notwithstanding. The ecclesiastical influence of his 
day armed itself against him, hut the populace everywhere 
thronged him. The common people heard him gladly. 
They welcomed him when he came in peace, with hosannas 
and branches of the palm-tree ; and when his enemies con- 
trived to enlist the Roman military power on their side, so as 
to lead him out to Calvary, — the vast crowds from Jerusalem 
followed, lamenting and bewailing him. In those throngs, 
there might have been few who were his sincere disciples, 
but though they would not yield to the inflexible demands of 
the doctrine, — they could not but be touched by the unaf- 
fected and unceasing benevolence of the man. Now it al- 
ways has been so, and it always must be so with proper 
efforts to save men's souls. Faithful attachment to the cause 
of God will bring upon those who exhibit it, persecution, it is 
true, — but it is the persecution of the few, not of the many. 
That is the true distinction. The Christian must expect, if 
he is faithful, to be buffeted, and opposed, and hated, — but it 
will only be by a few, whose peculiar circumstances, or whose 
extreme depravity, separates them from mankind at large. 
He must expect that the mass of those whom he endeavors to 
save, will appreciate his honest kindness, and feel something 
like respect and gratitude toward him. 

These remarks, however, we wish the reader especially 
to observe, are intended to apply almost exclusively to private 
intercourse with neighbors and friends, in a quiet Christian 
community, where the principles and duties of Christianity 
are in theory admitted. When Christian principle comes 
to array itself in opposition to powerful interests, or to the 



164 



THE WAY TO DO GOOD 



Estimation of virtue in this world. 



prevailing habits or pursuits of the community, it often awa- 
kens universal and most bitter hostility. Such emergencies 
have often occurred, and must undoubtedly often occur again. 
In respect, however, to the ordinary personal intercourse 
of private Christians, with their impenitent neighbors and 
friends, in a land like ours, we at least ought not to antici- 
pate hostility. Many circumstances in the past history of 
piety, show that men have often been disposed to perceive its 
excellence in others, even when they would not yield to its 
influences themselves Abraham was received with favor 
wherever he went. Joseph was generally respected and be- 
loved. They were few who lowered him into the pit, and sold 
him into slavery. The character of Daniel commanded admi- 
ration, though there were malignant individuals who plotted 
against his life. John the Baptist was in no danger from the 

throngs around him, 



-- 7 p(t < ' ^ 



while defenseless, and 
in the solitary wilder- 
ness, he reproved them 
of sin. They loved to 
hear him. It was the 
hate of only one adul- 
teress, and the cruelty 
of one tyrant, which 
cost him his life. So the 
general popularity of 
our Savior as a preach- 
er, the crowds that 
everywhere thronged 
him, testify. His ene- 
mies were few, though 
they were powerful 
enough, with the help of Roman spears, to lead him to the 
cross. And lastly, Paul found a welcome and listening hear 




JOHN THE BAPTIST. 



PROMOTION OF PERSONAL PIETY. 165 



Common impression. 



ers wherever he went. His dangers and difficulties were the 
work of a small number of designing men, and the populace 
moved against him only when these few, by falsehood and 
misrepresentation, urged them on. 

Now we are slow to make the distinction pointed out 
above. "We are apt to imagine that inasmuch as faithful, 
Christian effort must expect opposition in every age, it must 
expect it from every person ; and we sometimes go about 
our work expecting to be met everywhere with the look of 
hostility and defiance. And going with the expectation of 
finding this feeling, we insensibly speak and act in such a 
manner as to awaken it. The reader may have been accus- 
tomed to take a different view of the feelings with which the 
mass of mankind are prepared to receive honest efforts for 
their spiritual good, yet the more he reflects upon it, the 
more he looks at the testimony of Scripture, and the history 
of the church, the more he will be satisfied that the view 
above presented, is true. If it is true, it is plain that we 
must go about the work of seeking and saving men, with the 
feeling that our efforts, if properly and kindly made, will not 
be angrily received. That hostility and hatred are to be ex- 
pected only from a few, but that the great majority, while 
they will still perhaps love and cling to their sins, will ap- 
preciate and feel the kindness which attempts to save them 
from future misery. 

It is very probable, now, that some reader who may have 
perused these last paragraphs, without very discriminating 
attention, may understand me to say that the natural heart 
has no feeling of hostility to the claims of God's law. 
Whereas, a little attention will observe that I say no such 
thing. On the other hand, I have repeatedly asserted ex- 
actly the contrary. There is a hostility to the claims of 
God's law, but not always hostility to the messenger who 
kindly presents those claims. It may seem strange, perhaps, 



166 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

We must expect a welcome. Favorable opportunities. 

that a man should feel gratitude and attachment to the 
friend who endeavors to save him from the sin, while he yet 
loves the sin, and clings to it, and is determined not to let it 
go. But such is human nature, and the experience of every 
Christian who has heen faithful in his Master's work, will 
readily call to mind many cases in illustration of it. 

We are to make it our "business, then, to look around over 
the field to which God has assigned us, with the expectation 
of finding, in ordinary cases, a welcome, not a repulse, in 
our efforts to save the soul. This expectation should lead 
us to go forward boldly, but at the same time delicately and 
kindly. We must be active, and faithful, and frank, and 
courageous, while at the same time we are mild and unas- 
suming. If our hearts are really in it, it will be easy and 
pleasant work, and we shall have far more numerous oppor- 
tunities for doing something for the cause of God, than we 
have supposed. 

Almost every Christian would find within his family, or 
within the circle of his acquaintance, several persons who 
are constantly expecting, — even desiring that he will intro- 
duce religious conversation with them. Gently pressed, from 
time to time, for many years, perhaps, with feeble convic- 
tions of sin, they are continually hoping that some faithful, 
Christian friend will address them. Though they dislike the 
service of God, and continue accordingly to live in sin, con- 
science is not quiet, and the future is darkened by their fore- 
boding fears. They are inexcusable for continuing thus in 
sin, waiting for an influence from another, — but yet this in- 
fluence, if exerted, might, very probably, be the effectual 
instrument in leading them to repentance. Now see to it, 
my reader, that no such cases exist near to you. Perhaps 
there are some. Explore the ground and see. It may be 
your most intimate and familiar companion, whom you have 
seen every day for years, and conversed witb on every sub- 



PROMOTION OF PERSONAL PIETY. 167 

Artifice. Anonymous letters. Courtesies of social life. 

ject of interest to you both, except the salvation of your 
souls ; it is strange, but it is very often the case, that the 
Christian and the sinner who are most closely associated 
in the family, or in the business or social relations of life, 
are those between whom the subject of salvation is most 
shunned. 

2. These views of the condition and of the feelings of 
mankind, in respect to the efforts made for their salvation, 
should lead you to be frank, and open, and candid, in all that 
you do and say. Expect to be met with a friendly spirit ; 
and act accordingly, with frankness, openness, and honesty, 
Resort to no artifices, no contrivances, no management. An 
anonymous letter, a concealed tract, a covertly insinuated 
reproof, will awaken nothing but displeasure, where an honest, 
direct, and friendly communication would be received in the 
spirit with which it was given. In being open, however, be 
careful not to be ostentatious, and never let frankness de- 
generate into disrespectful familiarity, nor honesty become 
bluntness, nor plain dealing, coarse obtrusion. In all your 
religious intercourse also with others, be governed entirely by 
those rules of delicacy and propriety which constitute the 
cement and the charm of social life. Perhaps no error is 
more common, than for a professing Christian, forward and 
zealous in his Master's cause, to consider himself absolved 
from all obligations like these. The lofty nature of the work 
that he has to do, rises so high, he imagines, as to lift him 
above all the restraints of these principles of action by which 
human conduct is ordinarily controlled. Sad mistake ! It 
is not, however, that the work of saving souls ought to be 
sacrificed to the principles of human courtesy, but that it can 
not go on in defiance of them. The paths in which we have 
to _abor, in promoting the salvation of men, are the ave- 
nues to the human heart, and we can not succeed, if we re- 



168 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Discussions. Truth spiritually discerned. Examples. 

sort to measures by which every such avenue is barred up 
and defended. 

I ought, however, here, and repeatedly in the course of 
these remarks, to remind my readers that these directions are 
intended mainly for common Christians in the walks of pri- 
vate life. Cases do doubtless often occur, in which persons 
holding important stations in the church, and even private 
Christians, are bound to rebuke sin and sinners in the most 
decided manner. Nay, prevailing sins in a community may 
sometimes call for an array of the followers of Jesus Christ 
in an attitude of open and positive hostility. These cases we 
do not here include. We refer ouly to the private efforts of 
individual Christians, in the common walks of life, to spread 
their Master's spirit from soul to soul. 

3. Generally avoid discussion of doctrine with religious 
inquirers. There is a double reason for this. In the first 
place, you can not remove the theoretical difficulties which 
cluster about the subject of religion, while the heart of the 
inquirer remains unchanged ; and then, in the second place, 
if you could do it by great effort, this labor may as well be 
spared, — for if the change in the heart is once effected, these 
difficulties will melt away of themselves, and all your labor 
of endless debate will be saved. The need of a Savior, for 
instance, you can not establish by argument to the satisfac- 
tion of a mind insensible of guilt. But let the moral sensi- 
bilities be once awakened, — bring conviction of sin, and the 
M)ul will hunger and thirst for a Savior with an ardor of 
desire which nothing but an atoning sacrifice of the Son of 
God will effectually relieve and satisfy. So in regard to the 
agency and the influence of the Holy Spirit ; — there are a 
thousand questions connected with that subject, which can 
not be understood by any mind in which those influences 
have not been felt. But where they have been felt, although 
the subject, even then, may not be theoretically understood. 



PROMOTION OF PERSONAL PIETY. 169 

Effect of a discussion. A common error. 

all the practical difficulties at once disappear. So with the 
desert of sin, — and the just weight and duration of future 
punishment ; they can not be seen by a mind that is impen- 
itent and worldly. Many such minds may, indeed, from the 
influence of early education, receive unquestioned the scrip- 
ture statements on all these subjects ; but if they do not 
receive them, — if they have begun to entertain doubts, or to 
feel difficulties, you can not easily solve or remove them by 
theological discussion, while the subject of them remains in 
his sins. A discussion, though begun on the part of the 
inquirer, with an honest desire to have his difficulties re- 
moved, will soon become a contest for victory ; and far from 
solving his doubts, it will be quite as likely that he will 
defeat you, as that you will satisfy him. The reason is, that 
the truths, or rather the elements to which the truths relate, 
which you wish to make plain to him, are spiritually dis- 
cerned, while in his present state he can not know them. 
He may take these upon trust from others ; but he can not 
see them with his own eyes, or believe them with his own 
faith, till his eyes have been opened by influences very differ- 
ent from those of theological discussion. 

There prevails among irreligious men, I mean, those who 
feel any interest at all in the subject of salvation — an im- 
pression that they must have clear ideas of truth, before they 
are under any obligation to do duty. They talk of looking 
into the subject of religion, of inquiring into the tenets of 
different persuasions, as preliminary altogether to personal 
piety. They seem to imagine that so long as peculiar cir- 
cumstances, — such as the pressure of business, or the appa- 
rent balance of the argument, — keep them from coming to a 
decision about the theory, they are under no practical obli- 
gations whatever. The latter may, they think, properly 
remain in suspense, until the former are all settled ; and the 
more argument and debate you hold with them, the more 
H 



170 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Degree of knowledge necessary to salvation. 

permanent is this impression. But the truth is, there is very 
little theoretical truth whose possession is necessary to "bring 
upon a man the whole force of imperious obligation to repent 
of his sins. There is one question, it is true, which a man 
must have knowledge enough to answer. " Have I ever 
done wrong ?" If the powers of his feeble intellect grope in 
darkness in respect to this question, his Maker will doubtless 
hold him exempt from moral obligation, through the imper- 
fection of his faculties. But if, on the other hand, he has 
light enough for this, he need not wait, certainly, for more. 
The duty of repentance presses upon him with the whole 
weight of her claims. Until these claims are admitted, he 
ought not to expect to make successful progress in under- 
standing the nature of God's government, or his relations to 
men. How can he expect it, while he shows himself God's 
enemy by clinging to acknowledged sin. 

Our first great duty, then, with religious inquirers, is to 
bring them, not to correctness of theological sentiment, — 
but to heartfelt conviction of sin : and this, not because 
correctness of religious sentiment is not immensely important, 
but because it is impossible to force it upon an impenitent 
heart by the mere power of reasoning. Error comes through 
the corruption of the heart ; and the full establishment of 
the truth must be expected from its purification. The Spirit 
does indeed make the truth the instrument of conviction and 
conversion ; nay, more, the truth is the only instrument ; — 
but the important point to be noticed is, that there is truth 
enough blazing before the mind and conscience of every man, 
to bring upon him the full force of moral obligation, though 
there may be many things connected with revealed religion, 
which, through the insensibility of a hardened heart, or the 
feebleness and imperfection of human powers, are involved 
in obscurity. Press therefore the obligations arising out of 
truths which can not be denied, and by the blessing of the 



PROMOTION OF PERSONAL PIETY. 171 

A dialogue. Investigation no the first duty. 

Holy Spirit you may hope to awaken spiritual sensibility, by 
means of which the soul which you are attempting to save 
shall hunger and thirst after more. 

For example, we will suppose that an impenitent man in 
conversing with a religious friend, under some circumstances 
which have awakened temporary seriousness, expresses his 
state of mind as follows. The replies and remarks of the 
Christian illustrate the course indicated by these principles. 

Sinner. This subject has lately been a great deal upon 
my mind. I have, however, some difficulties. I have been 
inclined to disbelieve the doctrine of future punishment, — 
but some things lately, have led me to fear that I may have 
been mistaken, and I intend to take hold of the subject, and 
examine it fairly and thoroughly. Can you recommend to 
me any books ? 

He says this with an air of satisfaction, as if his Christian 
friend would receive the intimation with joy and pleasure, 
and regard his determination to give both sides a fair hear- 
ing, as a very meritorious act. 

His friend replies, 

" I could name to you some books, but I should hardly 
advise you to- make such an investigation." 

" Should not advise me to make it !" exclaims the inquirer, 
" why not ?" 

" No, sir, I should not think that your first step would be 
to examine that subject." 

"Why not?" 

"Will you allow me to ask you a question ? Perhaps I 
ought not to ask it ; but since you request my advice in re- 
spect to your religious course, and as I can not give it with- 
out distinctly understanding the facts, I know you will excuse 
it. Are you in the daily habit of secret prayer ?" 

" Why, — no, sir, — I can not say that I am." 
' You believe there is a God ?." 



172 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

The difficulty in the heart. 

" Certainly, I do." 

" And that he exerts a constant oversight and care of aU 
his creatures ?" 

" Yes, sir." 

" Do you think it right or wrong, then, for us to live in 
the neglect of all communication and intercourse with him V 

" It is wrong, — I must admit." 

"I must ask one more question about it. When you con- 
sider the whole case, our connection with God and his com- 
mands, — do you think it very wrong, or only moderately 
wrong, to live many years, as you have, without any inter- 
course with him ?" 

The man is silent. Utter speechlessness is the proper an- 
swer to such a question. 

" Now, sir, I think* there is a far mere important, and 
more profitable question for you to examine, than the ques- 
tion of future punishment. It is this. Why is it that you 
are doing now, and have been doing, year after year, for a 
very long time, what you must see is the height of ingrati- 
tude and sin ?" 

" Why, sir, the truth is, I have not thought much about 
it." 

" True : but that only brings up the question in a little 
different form. How could you have lived so long, with so 
many memorials of God all about you, and so many calls to 
love and serve him, and yet not think much about it ? If 
you go to examining the subject of future punishment, you 
may, perhaps, get engaged in the discussion, so that your rea- 
soning powers will be interested ; but while your heart re- 
mains in its present state, you will end as you began, — youi 
reason perplexed by the opposing arguments, and your con- 
science asleep, as it has been, in sin. But if you look into 
your heart, in view of your life of ungodliness and sin, with 
humble prayer that God will help you understand it, and 



PROMOTION OF PERSONAL PIETY. 173 



Another ca3e. A proposed argument. Its uselesisness. 



that by his grace he will renew it, you may hope to be 
saved." 

Or perhaps the inquirer comes with the same difficulty, 
but in a little different spirit. He wishes to argue the case 
directly with you. He knows that you believe in the eter- 
nal suffering of the wicked, and comes with a store of objec- 
tions and arguments, to refute the opinion. Now, however 
strongly you may yourself believe, and however clear the ar- 
guments may stand in your own mind, and however easily 
you may be able to set aside every objection, you can make 
no progress in a debate with such a man. If he is a good 
disputant, he will know how to embarrass and perplex you, 
though he may have a bad cause. If he is a bad one, he 
will not understand your arguments, or appreciate the force 
and bearing of what you say ; but he will be slipping off, 
and flying away in every direction, — and after an hour's 
debate, you will find that you have made no progress what- 
ever. 

You may say to him then, 

" Suppose we should have such a discussion, what would 
oe the result ? Suppose that you should convince me that 
there is no punishment for sin, in another world, what 
then ?" 

" Why then I should expect you would give it up, and not 
let us hear any more of it." 

" And suppose I should gain the victory, and prove to your 
satisfaction, that there is a judgment to come, and that you 
will be called to account there for all your sins in this 
world ?" 

" Why — in that case, — I should admit it, if you convince 
me satisfactorily." 

" And should you feel an obligation to attend to the sub« 
iect of religion ?" 



174 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

The propor course. Aim to produce conviction of sin. 

" Yes, I should," lie replies decidedly. — " If you will con- 
vince me that there is to be a judgment after death, I prom- 
ise you that I will immediately attend to the subject of re- 
ligion." 

" What do you mean by religion ?" 

" Why we both understand what is meant by it, — I can 
not undertake to define it." 

• "I understand of it, repenting of, and abandoning all sin, 
and beginning to love and serve God, in hope of forgiveness 
through Jesus Christ." "Very well." 

" You admit this. Well, just see in what state of mind 
you are, when you come to have a discussion with me. You 
will not repent and abandon sin, or begin to love and serve 
God, because you think you are not to be called to account 
for it. If I can prove to you that there is a future world of 
eternal suffering, and that you must be ruined if you die as 
you are, then you will alter your course, and begin to love 
God ; otherwise, you will not. Now I know that I never 
could convince you while you are in this state of mind. It 
would do no good to try." 

Your companion will find it difficult to reply to this, and 
you can easily lead him to see, that the facts in this case in- 
dicate a sad state of dislike to God and hostility to his reign ; 
and that instead of disputing on the question whether he is 
to escape punishment for this or not, he ought to humble 
himself at once before God, and secure his forgiveness ; for 
whether he is to be punished or not for it, it is, undoubtedly, 
a most heinous sin. So in all other cases. A man living in 
impenitence and sin, is not in a state of mind to be convinced 
of religious truth by disputation ; and it is wiser and better 
that the attempt should not be made. This subject, how- 
ever, will come before us again in another chapter. 

4. Endeavor to lead the inquirer immediately to use the 
means of grace, honestly and faithfully. Let him begin to 



PK0M0T10N OF PERSONAL PIETY. 175 

Means of grace. Common impression ;— groundless. 

read the Bible every day, and to pray to God in secret, and 
in his family, if he have one. Show to him that he ought 
at once and openly to abandon his sinful and worldly courses, 
and to devote a portion of his tim« to reading, meditation, re- 
ligious conversation, and prayer. We sometimes shrink a 
little from giving these directions, lest they should turn off 
the attention of the inquirer from the duty of immediate re- 
pentance, and lead to a round of mere external duties, instead 
of forming that vital union with the Savior, by penitence and 
faith, which can alone save the soul. And there is, in fact, 
some danger here, but this should not prevent our pressing 
upon the impenitent sinner his whole duty, as claiming at 
once his immediate attention ; and these things are unques- 
tionably a part of it. It is his undoubted duty to commence 
immediately the study of the Bible, and secret prayer ; — not 
hypocritically, or from mere selfish fear of future punishment, 
— but with honest sincerity, and from a heartfelt and holy 
desire to know and to do the will of God. " But," say you, 
" he has not such holy desires, — his mind is only under the 
influence of selfish fear, and if he performs these external 
duties at all, it will be in such a manner as will only increase 
his guilt." 

True, I reply, I will allow it. I will allow that at the 
moment of your giving the advice, the heart of the sinner is 
unchanged, and that without thorough moral renewal, all his 
external duties will be merely superficial and hollow, — an 
abomination in the sight of God ; — though whether they 
would be a greater abomination than utterly neglecting them, 
may not be certain. Still, how and when are we to expect 
such a moral renewal as is necessary to take place ? How 
and when are we to expect new and holy desires to spring 
up in the darkened and obdurate heart ? "What occasions 
are we to hope that the Spirit will make use of, to renew the 
soul, and awaken spiritual life there ? There can be but one 



176 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Immediate action. Religious duties of the impenitent. 

answer. The right feeling is most reasonably to be expected 
to arise, in conjunction with an effort to perform the right 
act. If a hundred religious inquirers were to be told simply 
that it would be useless for thern to attempt to do their duty, 
until their hearts are changed, they would imagine that they 
had nothing to do but to wait for this change, and the result 
would be, returning indifference and stupidity, or else a 
gloomy and settled discouragement, or despair. On the other 
hand, if the religious teacher should urge immediate action, 
pressing, at the same time, the indispensable necessity of holy 
motive, the very change desired would be most likely to take 
place simultaneously with the attempt to comply. We say 
to an impenitent sinner, "Go to your closet, and there spread 
out your sins before God, confessing and giving up every one, 
but be sure that you do it honestly. Hate and loathe them, 
while in the act of thus confessing them. Be sure to be hon- 
est with God." We say this, not with the idea that it is 
possible for a sinner, remaining impenitent in heart, to 
make an acceptable' confession, — but because we hope tha 
the moment of falling upon his knees in solitude, or the mo- 
ment of determining to do so, or some other moment during 
the season of confession, may be the one chosen by the Holy 
Spirit to renew and sanctify the darkened and sinful soul. 
So we should say, " You ought to set apart a time every day 
for reading the Bible, attentively studying it, and praying at 
the same time for God's guidance and blessing in enabling 
you to understand and do his will." And this, not that we 
imagine that the reading of the Scriptures, while the heart 
remains hostile to God, can be a service at all acceptable to 
him, — but because we hope that the first sincere and honest 
desire to do God's will, may be awakened by the renewing 
influences of the Spirit, while the sinner is in the attitude of 
studying to know it. So with all the other means of grace,, 
and external, religious duties. The turning of the soul to 



PROMOTION OF PERSONAL PIETY. 177 



Instructions of the Bible. 



ward them are, and always have been, tin occasions which 
God has most frequently seized upon, to renew and sanctify 
the soul. Inquire of your religious acquaintances and friends, 
and they will almost with one voice tell you so. One felt 
the first emotions of penitence arising in his heart, while he 
was uttering the language of penitence. Another first turned 
his soul to God while reading of his holiness, his majesty, his 
glory, in his Word. A third submitted, while on his knees in 
prayer. It is not indeed always so. We can assign no limits, 
nor prescribe any universal rule to the operation of the Spirit 
upon the heart ; but it is perfectly safe to say that it is gen- 
erally so. An immensely large proportion of the conversions 
which take place, take place while the soul is in such an at- 
titude as I have described. Our duty is, therefore, toward 
our impenitent friends, to endeavor to bring them into this 
attitude. We must lead them to commence immediately 
the performance of every known duty, — charging them, how- 
ever, to be sure that they do it with right feelings of heart. 
We can not be too careful in leading them to see that if they 
should do these things with hearts still remaining hostile to 
God, instead of doing any thing to merit his favor, they only 
provoke his displeasure more and more. 

We shall find, on examination, that the instructions given 
in the Bible, correspond with these views. The direction 
given to religious inquirers, is, in a vast number of instances 
there, not the naked and simple direction to begin to feel 
right, but to begin to do right, in the exercise of right feel- 
ings. See, for example, John's preaching, our Savior's calls 
to his apostles, — the whole tenor of the Sermon on the 
Mount, and, as a case peculiarly in point, the directions 
given by our Savior to Saul. 

" Lord, what wilt thou have me to do ?" 

" Arise," is the answer, " and go into the city, and it shall 
be told thee what thou shalt do." Here is a simple act to 



178 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

General directions. Philosophy cf human nature. 

be performed Not, in itself, at all of a religious nature ; 
but it was to be performed on a principle of obedience and 
faith. Paul obeyed ; and his rising to go into the city, in 
obedience to his Savior's commands, was perhaps the com- 
mencement of his submission and his love, and of that long- 
continued and most devoted attachment, which waters could 
not quench, nor floods drown. 

In many other instances, however, in the New Testa- 
ment, the direction is more general. Repentance, as a 
feeling of the heart, is directly enjoined, and we ought 
always to enjoin it, so that the inquirer may never, for 
a moment, imagine that any thing but a radical, moral 
renewal can ever make him a child of God, or a fit inheritor 
of heaven. 

It is interesting to observe how the operations of the Holy 
Spirit, in renewing the human heart, correspond with the phi- 
losophy of human nature, in respect to all other moral action ; 
for we can, in all other cases, best secure right feeling, by 
enjoining a corresponding right act. If the Samaritan had 
called back the Levite to the wounded traveler, and remon- 
strated with him on his unfeeling heart, and urged him to 
feel more kindly, and then to come and help him to relieve 
the sufferer, he would probably have remonstrated and urged 
in vain. And yet, if he had said, " Come help me raise this 
poor sufferer and carry him to the inn ; he will die if we 
leave him here," — the Levite might perhaps have responded 
to the appeal, and kind feeling might have been awakened 
in his heart, by the very performance of a kind action. So 
when Nehemiah said to his brethren, " Come, let us build 
again the wall of Jerusalem," he awoke more effectually the 
spirit of patriotism among his countrymen, by thus calling 
upon them to act, than he could have done by the most 
powerful appeal to the feelings alone. Such is human 
nature. Right sentiments, and right emotions, come mosJ 



PROMOTION OF PERSONAL PIETY 179 

Immediate duty. Promote a very thorough chaDge. 

readily in conjunction with right action, and God, in the 
operations of his Spirit, conforms to those laws of the human 
heart which he has himself ordained. 

We never need fear, therefore, pressing upon sinners the 
claims of immediate duty in action, if we at the same time 
press the indispensable necessity that such duty should be 
performed under the impulse of renewed affections. Lead 
them to seek salvation diligently, in the use of the means 
which God has appointed. There can be no reasonable 
ground of hope for those who neglect them. 

5. In all conversation with religious inquirers we ought 
to feel ourselves, and lead them to feel, that entering the 
service of God is a very great step, which changes the whole 
plan and object, and alters all the enjoyments and sufferings 
of life. The Christian who begins his new life with an idea 
that it is a slight thing, will never make a very efficient 
Christian. If we take any proper views of it, it is a very 
great thing, and we ought to take special care that all our 
influence over those who are seeking salvation, should be 
such as to lead them to a very thorough change. We must 
not heal the hurt of sin slightly, and thus make superficial, 
heartless and worldly Christians, — to do nothing while they 
live but hover about the line between the friends and the 
enemies of God, and thus obliterate the distinction which 
God intended to have as strongly marked as possible. Let 
it be a pure, a devoted, a thorough-going piety which our 
efforts may help to spread. 

6. At the same time we should be pleased with every 
approximation to what is right. If men will not actually do 
their duty, the nearer they come to doing it the better 
And yet there is a very common impression that it is not ss 
It is very often said, for example, that there is more hope 
for an open enemy of religion,. than of one who is upright, and 
moral, and regular in outward observances. But it is the 



180 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Approximation desirable. It lessens danger, though not guilt. 

love of paradox which gives such a sentiment currency 
among mankind. Let any one look at the history of any 
church with which he has been connected, and inquire from 
what classes of the community, the greatest number of addi- 
tions to it have been made. It will be found, almost uni- 
versally, that though there may be many detached instances 
of the conversion of the infidel or the reviler, the profligate, 
the bold and open enemy of God, — yet that these cases are 
comparatively few. The great majority of admissions'to the 
Christian church are from the class of the moral, the thought- 
ful, the regular attendants upon Christian worship, and the 
readers of his Word. When religion is revived, numbers 
from this class arise, give up their sins, and enter the service 
of God ; and others are brought into their places to become 
themselves the subjects of renewing grace at a future time. 
Let no one infer from this, that a man is any the less guilty 
of neglecting and disobeying God, because he is regular and 
upright in the performance of his outward duties. I have 
not said that he is the less guilty, but only that he is in less 
danger. His danger is indeed appalling, — if he could but 
see it, — appalling in living even for a day in sin, when he 
is every moment liable to be called into eternity. Still it is 
less than if he were the open and avowed enemy of religion. 
So that if we really wish to save men, we shall desire to 
bring them as near as we can to salvation. Induce as many 
as possible to enter the narrow way, and then bring as many 
more as possible up near to the gate ; and those which are 
more remote, and will not come near to it, perhaps may be 
induced to approach a little. All approximation, while it 
does not diminish their sin, may diminish their danger. 

If, for instance, you have a neighbor who hates religion 
and its friends, and has walled himself in, so that you can 
gain no access to him with religious truth, you can do him 
a kindness, if opportunity offers, and thus connect in his mme 1 



PROMOTION OF PERSONAL PIETY. 181 

Cases. Gradual progress. A family brought near. 

one pleasant association with a religious man. It is one step. 
A small one, I grant ; but its influence is, so far as it has 
any influence, to bring him a little more within the reach 
of a call which may ultimately awaken him. He remains 
quite as much the enemy of God, as before, — quite as hostile, 
quite as inexcusable, — but his case is not quite so hopeless. 
In the same maimer, if there is near you a family living in 
heathen indifference and neglect of the ordinances of God, 
and you can bring them to his house, and aid them to find 
their regular seat there, and lend them suitable books for the 
Sabbath, and introduce the children into the Sabbath-school, 
— you will have made important progress, though perhaps 
every member of that family may be as decidedly the enemy 
of God, and as fully obnoxious to his displeasure afterward, 
as before. You have made progress, for you have brought 
them fairly within that circle, over which the waters of 
salvation flow : and in years to come there will probably be 
found among the children and children's children of that 
family, many a Christian household, and many a saved soul, 
— though your effort, in its immediate results, did not, in the 
least, diminish the moral distance which separated the ob- 
jects of it from God. And once more. If you have within 
the circle of your acquaintance, persons of upright and moral 
character, and you can induce them to read the Scriptures 
daily, and to establish family prayer, even if they continue 
unchanged; your labor is not lost. They are not indeed 
made hall Christians. There is no such thing as a half 
Christian. They remain the enemies of God, while their 
hearts are alienated from him ; the more clearly the light 
of the gospel shines around them, the more evident and 
striking will appear their guilt, when God calls them to 
account. Still, though there may be no piety, there is a 
slight increase of hope. You bring them habitually under 
the influence of ihe truth, and this is the only means by 



182 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Approximation to right opinions. The greatest error the most dangerous. 

which they can be saved ; — and every approach to what ia 
right, quickens the moral sensibilities, and makes the next 
step easier. 

In the same manner, approximation toward right opinions 
is always desirable. It is better to be a Deist, than an 
Atheist ; and a nominal Christian, however heartless, than 
either. It is better to receive the New Testament only, as a 
revelation, than to reject both old and new. He who ac- 
knowledges God, but rejects a Savior, is not in a condition 
so desperate as he who rejects both Maker and Savior too. 
Persons embracing a corrupted or defective form of Christi- 
anity, are more accessible, conscience is more easily awa- 
kened, conviction of sin and penitence are more readily felt, 
than under the deadening influence of paganism. Many of 
my readers may have been accustomed to think differently. 
The truth is that we have generally the most controversy with 
those who differ the least from us, and so we magnify and 
exaggerate the importance of tbe difference, and say in the 
ardor of our zeal, that our immediate opponents are doing 
more injury than those who reject a great deal more. But 
if we look at facts, we shall find that it is not so. If we 
take any community which is divided into various sects, 
holding every form and degree of error, from pure evangelical 
Christianity, down to open Atheism, we shall find that the 
spread of real piety among all these classes, will bear a 
pretty just proportion to the distance at which they respec- 
tively stand from the standard of scripture truth. Instead, 
therefore, of looking with a jealous and malignant eye upon 
those who differ least from us, we should be glad to have 
them as near us as they are ; and while we do every thing 
in our power to keep the standard of piety among the follow- 
ers of Jesus Christ elevated, and the standard of doctrino 
pure, we should rejoice at every approximation which we 
can effect, either toward the one or the other. 



PROMOTION OF PERSONAL PIETY. 183 

Caution. Dependence on divine influences. 

It would be wrong to bring this chapter to a close, without 
reminding the reader once more, in the most distinct and 
emphatic manner, that his only hope of success in his efforts 
to save his fellow-men, is in divine influences exerted upon 
the heart, in connection with his endeavors. We have no 
new truths to present to the minds of men, and no new 
means to try. Our friends and neighbors who are living in 
sin know all that we can tell them ; and in repeating efforts 
which have been made before, in vain, our only hope must 
be in the renewing agency of the Holy Spirit. Besides, if 
we were coming to our fellow-men with the first tidings 
which ever reached them of God, and duty, and judgment 
to come, we could expect, if unaided, nothing but unquali- 
fied and universal rejection of the claims of religious duty. 
Persuasion, which is often powerful in altering human con- 
duct, can never change the human heart. You may per- 
suade a proud, ambitious man, to take this or that course to 
gain his objects, but you can never persuade him to be 
humble. Men generally dislike and loathe the idea of hav- 
ing God present with them at all times, and you can never 
reason them into loving it. The experiment would be like 
that of the foolish nurse, who attempts to make the shrink- 
ing child believe that the medicine she offers him is pleasant 
to the taste. She argues, entreats, assures, but all in vain, 
— the palate, whose revolting tendencies lie beyond the reach 
of such means, still rebels. m And so with the unrenewed soul 
of man : the difficulty with him is not ignorance, it is not 
darkness, it is not mistake ; but it is that spiritual pleasures, 
growth in holiness, and the happiness of union with God, are 
exactly what he most dislikes, and most wishes to shun ; and 
the more distinctly and clearly you present salvation to him, 
— for it is these things which salvation means, — the more 
plainly he understands what it is, and the more decidedly, if 
left to himself, will he reject it. It is, therefore, not enough 



184 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Perfection of nature, and moral ruin of man. 

to say that the work to be done in saving men from sin is 
too great, in degree, for our powers, but it is removed, by its 
very nature, from the field in which we can exercise them ; 
and if we rightly understand this, if we see the subject in 
the light in which both the Bible, and a sound philosophy 
exhibit it, we shall work humbly while we work diligently ; 
and when God gives success to our efforts, by the renewing 
agency of his Spirit, our hearts will glide spontaneously into 
the ascription, " Not unto us, not unto us, but unto God be 
all the glory." 

In a word, — our efforts to do good in this world, in order 
to be successful, must be grounded on the fact that it is a 
world lost in sin. It is strange that even philosophers, not 
to say professed Christians, could ever have doubted this. 
It would seem that every one must be at onc& convinced 
of it, by contrasting the admirable success of all the other 
works of God, in answering their purposes, with the con- 
spicuous and universal failure of man, as a moral being, to 
answer his. Let the eye rove over this visible creation, and 
observe our fruitful fields, our splendid, skies, our glorious 
sun. Watch the movements and the changes which the 
elements undergo, and see how admirably heat and cold, — 
vapor, hail and snow, — the rolling ocean, and the soaring 
cloud, do the bidding of God, and accomplish to perfection, 
their purposes. Whether you regard the grandeur of design, 
or the mightiness of execution, or the inconceivable perfec- 
tion in the finish of details, all will impress you with an idea 
of the lofty standard which the Great Architect has aimed 
at, and reached, in all his works. You may go into the 
forest and examine, as minutely as you please, the most un- 
known and concealed wild flower which grows there. Look 
at its form, its colors, — the grace and beauty of its move- 
ments, as it waves in the wind, whose movements are ad 



PROMOTION OF PERSONAL PIETY. 



185 



Man a moral wreck. 







THE WILD FLQWEHS. 



justed to an exact 
equilibrium with the 
strength and pliancy 
of its stem. Observe 
the mechanism by 
which the seed is pro- 
duced, and the perfec- 
tion of its structure 
when formed and pack- 
ed with a hundred 
others, as perfect as 
itself, in its little cap- 
sule. Or look at the 
insect creeping upon 
its stalk, so minute 
that you must mag- 
nify it a hundred times 

to distinguish the brilliancy of its coloring and the perfection 
of its members. Or if you wish to take a specimen on a 
larger scale, look into the heavens, and study the arrange- 
ments and the motions of the solar system ; and consider th-3 
admirable success of these arrangements in producing here 
the change of day and night, summer and winter, and all 
the agreeable vicissitudes of the year. Study the movements 
of the great machine, and find if you can, the jar, or the 
friction, or the irregularity. It has been in ceaseless motion 
for forty centuries, — time, one would think, to test the me- 
chanism. 

But when you come to look at man, considered as a moral 
and social being, gathered into communities here, to accom- 
plish those purposes of holiness and happiness which a benev- 
olent Deity must have intended, in calling moral and sen- 
tient beings into existence, you see a most conspicuous am" 
terrible case of failure. The plans which God has forme 



186 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 



for his social prosperity and happiness, are all deranged by 
his sins. The family, the home, the connection which hinds 
parent to child, and child to parent, the social relations 
which link society together, all these intended foundations of 
happiness, are poisoned and spoiled by sin. Yes, all physical 
nature is great and glorious, — but man is degraded and in 
ruins. Every thing else is right, but his heart is wrong. 
The object of his being he does not accomplish ; the happi- 
ness which is within his reach, and which he was made to 
enjoy, he does not gain ; and he stands forth in the view of 
all the intelhgent creation, a mournful spectacle of ruin. 
It would seem that no man who would candidly look at the 
facts, could ever for a moment imagine that the world is at 
all in the moral and social condition in which God intended 
it to be. No, it is a world in ruins, — " a moral wreck, and 
our business is, while we live here, to save as many from it 
as we can." 



PUBLIC MORALS 187 

Influence of Christianity on the community. Christian and Pagan countries. 



CHAPTER VI. 



PUBLIC MORALS. 



*• By Aianifestatiun of the truth, commending ourselves to every man's conscience 
in the sight of God." 



Christianity has not only the power to secure eternal life 
to those who personally yield to her claims, — she also exerts 
a vast influence in purifying and preserving the whole social 
community. She has, however, done less than Christian 
writers have often claimed for her. She has not yet infused 
moral principle into the mass of any extended populace, so 
as to prevent the necessity of governing them by physical 
force ; and it is actually difficult to ascertain, from the con- 
tradictory reports of intelligent travelers, whether life and 
property are safer, and the state of public morals less corrupt, 
in Paris or London, than they are at Constantinople, or on 
the banks of the Hoang-ho. 

We say it is difficult to ascertain, — the difference is so 
much less than it ought to be. The inquiry, fairly made, 
however, gives a result greatly in favor of Christendom. 
Life and property are safer, and public morals are far, very 
far less corrupted in English villages, among the hills and 
valleys of Scotland, in Germany, France, Italy, and New 
England, — than on the shores of the Caspian Sea, or on the 
plains of China, or in Syria or Java, or on the banks of the 
Niger and the Nile. And the difference is greater in reality, 
than in appearance, for we must consider, not only the actual 



THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 



Crime and punishment in Boston :— in Constantinople. 

state of public order which, prevails, but the comparative de« 
gree of governmental pressure, which is found necessary in 
the respective countries, to secure it. The quiet and peace 
which reign in the interior of Christian countries, are main- 
tained by a far lighter hand, than that which is necessary 
to control a community of Mohammedans or Pagans. A 
criminal in Boston has a remote and uncertain prospect of 
suffering before him, to deter him from crime. There is his 
hope of escaping detection, — for there is no srgus-eyed police 
or watchful spy taking note of his movements. Then there 
are the forms through which he must pass, the extreme 
scrupulousness with which every evidence against him, not 
strictly legal, will be rejected ; the ingenuity of his advocate ; 
the feelings or the doubts of his jury ; and, lastly, the calm 
impartiality of his judge, under the influence of no wish, but 
to make the punishment as light as justice will possibly allow. 
How different from the stern and unfeeling severity with 
which the criminal of Constantinople is taken to the nearest 
officer of justice, — who is perhaps responsible for the order 
of his district with his head, and there, without ceremony or 
delay, bastinadoed, hung, drowned, strangled, or impaled. 
Yes ; to ascertain the power of Christianity upon the con- 
dition of the community, we must take into view, not only 
tne degree of public order which Christian and unchristian 
countries secure, but the comparative amount of despotic 
pressure and severity which they find necessary in order to 
secure it. 

The truth is, that a certain degree of regard for life and 
property, and of public order, is necessary for the very exist- 
ence of society ; and governments insensibly assume the de- 
gree of power, be it more or less, which may be necessary to 
secure this. So that the influence of Christianity upon a na- 
tion will show itself, at first, not so much in lessening the 
amount of vice and sin, as in diminishing the pressure neces- 



PUBLIC MORALS. 189 

of Christianity. Design of this chapter. 

sary to keep it within bounds. It lightens the hand of gov- 
ernment and softens its asperities. For it is public opinion 
which supports even the strongest governments, — an opinion 
based on the necessity of suppressing disorder and crime. 
Christianity, by diminishing the tendency to disorder, com- 
pels government to lighten its hand. "We see, therefore, in 
the comparative mildness and gentleness of Christian govern- 
ments, a tribute to the salutary influence of Christianity. 
But when we make the influence which she has exerted as 
great as we honestly can, by this and other considerations, 
how far is it below what it ought to have been. How sad 
is the moral and social condition of the most highly christian- 
ized country on the globe. How much is yet to be done in 
England and America, in removing abuses, arresting the 
progress of public vice, and in carrying the light and the 
happy influence of the gospel into the great mass of society. 
How many wrongs are yet unredressed ; how many vices 
yet unrestrained ; how many unnecessary sorrows and suf- 
ferings reign everywhere, which Christianity, even in its in- 
direct influence, might easily remove. 

This chapter is to be devoted to a consideration of this 
subject ; — the way by which Christianity is to produce its 
salutary effect upon the moral and social condition of the 
community. Of course, the reader will not expect a specific 
plan of operations, for the removal of particular evils. These 
will vary with the nature of the evil to be remedied, and the 
extent of the moral means which may be brought to bear 
upon it. Our design will therefore be, not to lay down plans 
of proceeding for particular cases, but to bring to view such 
general considerations as ought to be kept in mind, and al- 
lowed to influence our measures, and regulate the feelings 
of the heart with which we attempt to carry our measures 
into effect. 

1 . It is a very serious question, and one which the Chris- 



190 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

The Christian's appropriate work. 

tian community ought to consider well, how far we are to 
leave our appropriate work of directly "building up the king- 
dom of Christ for the purpose of going forth into the world 
to correct evils and abuses which reign there. No one who 
understands at all the nature of sin and its remedy, can doubt 
that our great work here, is to bring as many individual 
souls as possible to actual repentance, and to raise the stan- 
dard of holiness among those thus changed, to the highest 
point. This is laboring directly to promote the kingdom of 
Christ, — the extension of its walls, and the purification and 
spiritual prosperity of all within. This is the true way by 
which the remedy for sin is ultimately to reach the full ex- 
tent of the disease. The plan of Jesus Christ for saving the 
world, is not mainly that the indirect influence of Christi- 
anity upon the public conscience shall gradually meliorate 
the moral condition of unsanctified men in a mass, but that 
these men shall, one by one, be brought to conviction and 
thorough repentance, and made in succession his followers 
and friends ; not restrained a little, as a community, from 
their worst vices, by the indirect influence of the gospel, but 
changed thoroughly, as individuals, into new creatures in 
him. It is, therefore, to promote the spread of this individual, 
personal piety, that constitutes the great object at which we 
should aim. The other is secondary. It is occasional. Still, 
it has its claims. We are citizens of a community, as well 
as members of a church, and each relation gives rise to its 
appropriate duties. Cases often have occurred, in the history 
of Christendom, and are now continually occurring, in which 
religious men may go forth with advantage into the great 
community, and accomplish vast good by the power of a moral 
influence, more efficient in its appropriate sphere than legis- 
lative enactments, or military force. Generally, however, 
the province of Christian labor lies in a different region ; and 
the influence which piety is to exert upon the great unsanc- 



PUBLIC MORALS. 191 

to the community. 



tified mass of mind which envelops it, is indirect, spontaneous, 
collateral ; an influence which follows of its own accord, 
while the Christian is intent upon his own proper work of 
extending pure and thorough personal piety. 

2. When we go out to act thus upon society, we must re- 
member that we act as memhers of a community which is 
under one common responsibility with us to God, and that 
those whom we are endeavoring to influence are not respon- 
sible to us. The evils which we attempt to prevent or miti- 
gate, are sins against God, and they who commit them, are 
accountable to him for their guilt, — not to their fellow-men. 

Of course by the evils here referred to is meant only the 
acts or hahits of men considered simply in the light of per- 
sonal sins. So far as the wicked acts of men disturb or en- 
danger the peace or safety of the community, so far, of 
course, society, as an organized power, has a right to repress 
them in self-protection, and Christian men as a portion of 
the state may rightfully join in the exercise of this coercion. 
In regard, however, to the personal sins of men, considered 
as sins against God, we must remember that men are ac- 
countable to God for them, and not to us ; and this should 
influence the tone and spirit with which we should ap- 
proach them. "We are like children whose father is away, 
and if some do wrong the others are not clothed with any 
authority to arrest or punish it. The only remedy is the 
gentle moral influence which one child may properly exert 
upon another. 

A father sometimes, in such a case, returns, and finds an 
older child dictating with earnest gesticulations and impe- 
rious tone its duty to another. He stands before the little de- 
linquent, putting down his foot with an air of authoritative 
command, and insisting upon some supposed duty with the 
language, and tone, and manner which perhaps he ha8 
caught from some extreme exercise of authority, on the part 
of his father. 



192 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 



A common scene at home. Persuasion. 



The parent, coming 

, - in suddenly in the midst 

''..;'+._ -4=2^. of this scene, remon- 

_y'__ '■'_ ', strates. " Why," says 

7 ■' the child, " I am only 

Sijiilllil/i trying to make him do 

Ti " >- 'i what you tell him. Is 

not that," describing 
V^'c:^% r -. v yii'' what he was endeavor- 
4 ■■.-~r"~ S-^ &%' ing to enforce, "what 

'^aW^ WBESm w fflJBIres^ you tell him?" 

— V"""~1 ' 'J " Yes," replied the 

'"^It^J,''' 1 ' Mm"/ >MEfi R| parent, "that is what 

I j\ \nifW he ought to do, but 

—^ z=_ -"— ^_ ,-_ "- -dL^d*£& . you have no authority 

assumed authority. to make him do it. 

Your power over your 

little brother is persuasion, — not authority." 

Now there are many such scenes as these, acted among 
other children than those which play around the fireside. 
For human laws, restraining outward injury by man against 
man, there is, indeed, human authority. But for the divine 
law, as Grod is the sole avenger of it, so he alone may speak 
with the tone of authority and command. We are all, in 
lespect to those moral duties and relations which human laws 
do not cover, only children of one common Father, and the 
tone which we should assume toward our fellow-men, is 
that tone of gentle and unassuming, though clear and fear- 
less, and decided moral influence which one child may prop- 
erly assume toward another. 

3. It follows as a necessary inference from the last head, 
nr rather, as an expansion of it, that our work, when we at- 
tempt to act upon the community, is the work of persuasion. 
If we assume the air and tone of censorious authority, we fail 



PUBLIC MORALS. 193 



of unauthorized power. Christians in the minority. 

entirely of our object with those whom we endeavor to influ- 
ence. Usurped authority always invites resistance. The 
little child will resist the unauthorized dominion of his older 
brother : and how seldom, in the history of nations, has an 
usurper maintained a permanent seat upon the throne. The 
dynasties of Cromwell and of Napoleon expired with their 
founders, as the dynasties of usurpers almost always will. 
Even where men have no special objection to the thing 
which is to be done, they will be led to resist it, sometimes 
by the mere air and tone of compulsion, coming from a quar- 
ter where they feel that there is no proper authority. Thus 
the human heart may, in a thousand cases, be easily led, 
when it can not be driven by those who have no right to 
drive. It results from that instinctive principle of human 
nature which leads man to arouse himself to the resistance 
of all unauthorized power. 

Now, although good men seldom endeavor actually to 
force a moral reform upon the community by physical com- 
pulsion, they do not unfrequently assume such a tone and air 
of authority, as produces, in a great degree, the same ill 
effects. We ought to guard against this ; and we may easily 
guard against it, by taking a correct view of our place and 
province, as individual members of God's great family. We, 
as well as others, and others as well as we, are independently 
responsible for our moral conduct to our common Father 
So that moral suasion, and influences analogous to it, are our 
only sources of power. 

4. We must remember that the true servants of God in 
this world, are in a very small minority, and consequently 
that they can do nothing by force. So that the view given 
under the last head is not only correct in theory, but it is the 
only one which can be successful in practice. We are in a 
very small minority, — so that unless the case is a very extra- 
ordinary one indeed, giving us an immense aid from the 
I 



194 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Weakened by intestine divisions. Denominational jealousies. 

power of the public conscience, we can not conquer in open 
war. We can not know the numerical ratio which the 
friends of God in this world, bear to his enemies ; but every- 
one who has any proper idea of what a life of penitence and 
faith is, — a habitual preference of duties toward God and the 
interests of eternity, over the pursuits and pleasures of time 
and sense, — will admit that this ratio is yet very small. We 
should have to make a very large deduction, from even the 
number of communicants in the churches, for hypocrites and 
worldly-minded Christians, who, in any open contest, will al- 
ways throw their influence with the world. Thus in the 
contest between right and wrong, as it is going on at the 
present time, even in the most favored nation in Christen- 
dom, the armies are very unequally matched in respect to 
numbers, and we therefore can expect little success in open 
war. 

5. Our own internal divisions and jealousies make us 
weaker than the mere inspection of our numbers would indi- 
cate. How often is it that one denomination, or one theolog- 
ical party, shows itself far more afraid of the progress of the 
opposing one, than of the progress of sin. Thus many a 
measure originating in one quarter of the Christian commu- 
nity, finds hostility, or a feeling of jealousy equally fatal, in 
another ; and the Congregationalist joins with the infidel to 
thwart Episcopal plans, or Baptist and Deist combine to pre- 
vent Congregational ascendency. It is not always so. There 
is often a praiseworthy co-operation ; but while the different 
branches of the church place as much stress as they do now 
upon their distinctive forms of organization and discipline, 
questions of public morals will often become involved with 
questions of ecclesiastical strife. This danger we should con- 
sider. It certainly is a very important element to be taken 
into the account, in estimating the moral force which the 



PUBLIC MORALS. 195 



Drawing lines, and setting the battle : 



Christian community can command, in its contests with a 
wicked world on questions of puhlic morals. 

6. It follows from the preceding considerations, that we 
ought to be cautious how we get the community divided 
into parties, — the church and the world arrayed one against 
another in open war. "We are not strong enough for such 
contests, and if we were, victory would be hardly worth the 
gaining. 

First, I say, we are not strong enough. Tins is evident 
from the preceding heads ; and the moral history of all Chris- 
tian communities confirm it. "Whenever, on any moral ques- 
tion, the lines have been drawn, and sides taken, and a con- 
test commenced, the success has been almost invariably on 
the wrong side. This has always been the case whether the 
arena of the conflict has been in the competition of business, 
or in the enforcement of laws unsupported by public opinion, 
or in balloting at the polls. The majority on the side of 
worldliness and sin is altogether too great yet, to be over- 
come in any such way. We can neither conquer the wicked 
in an open contest, or run them down in competition, or out- 
vote them at elections, or outnumber them in mustering our 
followers, or baffle them in manoeuvering. We may exert 
an immense influence over them and over the whole com- 
munity, by the power of moral suasion, and by the gentle, 
unassuming influence of personal piety ; but when it comes 
to drawing lines and forming parties in array, setting one side 
against the other, there is scarcely any question in public 
morals which can stand the struggle. 

And yet we often take such a stand, and assume such a 
tone that the mass of the community feel themselves chal- 
lenged to a war. They begin to array themselves then 
against us. Watchwords and symbols are gradually adopted 
on both sides. On the one part, religious zeal, and on the 
other, enmity to God, is fanned and inflamed by mutual oppo- 



L96 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

A wrong spirit. 

sition. The lines of demarkation become continually more 
distinct, and defeat to the right is the almost invariable re- 
sult of the battle. There may be some few and rare excep- 
tions, but while the minority on the side of duty is as small 
as it is now, and while that small minority is so divided and 
weakened by intestine dissensions, the exceptions must be ex 
ceedingly few and rare. 

Then, again, the victory in such a contest, if obtained, 
would be scarcely worth the gaining. To put down sin by 
superior force, is but putting a constraint upon human de- 
sires, whereas, the thing to be done is to change the nature 
of those desires. We do not mean to say that the former is 
never desirable, but that it is only by the latter that the real 
kingdom of Jesus Christ is to be extended in the world. 
What we wish is, to bring men to abandon sin themselves, 
as individuals, on their own individual, personal, single, free 
will. And it is only so far as this is done, that any real pro- 
gress is made, in bringing back this lost world to its Maker. 
Let us proceed, then, in all our efforts, with a proper under- 
standing of the true nature of the work which we have to do, 
and of the moral means which we possess of effecting it ; and 
avoid a course, when we can avoid it, which will awaken 
and concentrate hostility to our cause, and thus unite the 
enemies of piety and bring them to bay. 

7. Our plans for promoting the moral 'improvement of the 
community are often impeded by this cause, namely, that we 
gradually connect with our efforts something wrong in the 
epirit which we exhibit, or in the measures that we adopt, 
and the result is that the attention of the community is turned 
away from the great moral evil itself, which we wish to cor- 
rect, and fixed upon the comparatively little evils which creep 
into our mode of correcting it. Just as in an argument, if 
one overstates a fact a very little, or presses a point a very 
little farther than it will bear, — his antagonist will . n 'mme- 



PUBLIC MORALS. . 197 

The true tactics. Wrong feelings. 

diately seize upon that excess, and endeavor to transfer the 
contest to that part of the field where he has the advantage, 
— drawing it away from the general merits of the question, 
where perhaps his cause could not he sustained. So when 
we call the attention of the community to their sins, eager as 
they will be to escape the subject, they will scrutinize our 
conduct and measures, and transfer the contest, if any inge- 
nuity can do it, to a dispute about something which we do 
that is indiscreet, or imprudent, or unguarded. Now a wise 
logician, in managing his argument, aware of the danger 
which I have above described, will state his facts a little less 
strongly than he is prepared to prove them, and in pressing 
his points, will stop a little short of the line to which they 
might legitimately be carried, so as to have every thing com- 
pletely protected and secure, and to expose no weak points 
to invite attack, and produce a diversion. These tactics, so 
unquestionably sound in the intellectual conflicts, are equally 
so in the moral one. "We must consider beforehand what 
will be the charges probably made, and must guard especially 
against affording the least ground for making them. 

8. We are often actuated by feelings so inconsistent with 
the principles of the gospel, in attempting to act upon the 
moral condition of the community, that we can not hope for 
success. And yet these feelings, unhallowed as they are, con- 
ceal themselves from our view, or disguise themselves in the 
garb of holy emotions, and thus elude us. Perhaps those 
which most easily gain the ascendency in our hearts, when 
we think we are only honestly interested in the cause of God, 
are censoriousness, and party spirit. The one, the corrup- 
tion and perversion of the proper feelings toward the sin 
which we oppose, and the other, a similar corruption and 
perversion of the proper feelings toward the kingdom of Christ 
which we profess to promote. In other words, instead of a 
proper hostility to sin, which is always coupled with feelings 



198 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Censoriousnes3. Party spirit. Anger and irritation. 

of kindness and compassion toward sinners, our hearts "become 
the prey of feelings of censoriousness toward the sins, and 
irritation against the sinners. And so, instead of that calm, 
quiet union of heart with all who love the Savior, and exem- 
plify his principles, united with a simple, honest desire that 
these principles should spread, we insensibly yield ourselves 
to the dominion of party spirit. "We wish that our side 
should conquer in the conflict ; we enjoy the mortification of 
our enemies, when they receive a blow ; we struggle for the 
pleasure of victory, — having so identified ourselves with our 
party that we consider its victories as, in some cases, triumphs 
of our own. 

Censoriousness and party spirit : — they are the bane and 
the destruction of the Christian cause. And yet censorious- 
ness is not precisely the word to convey our meaning ; for 
that usually imports the habit of speaking with uncharitable 
severity of the faults of others, whereas the sin which we 
wish to characterize has its origin in the heart, and censori- 
ousness is one of its fruits. It is the feeling with which the 
unrenewed heart of man regards those sins and failings of 
others in which it fancies that it does not itself participate. 
It looks upon these faults and failings with a sort of malig- 
nant exultation, and upon the victim of them with a feeling 
of irritation or hostility ; and when he suffers the bitter fruits 
of them, it enJGys a secret satisfaction which is of the nature 
of revenge. True piety on the other hand mourns over sin, 
and mourns equally, with the tenderest compassion, over the 
sad prospects of the sinner. Censoriousness, which is the out- 
ward expression of the one, loves to talk of the faults which 
she condemns when the censured ones are away, and no end 
can be accomplished by it but the indulgence of her own 
malignant gratification. A bitter smile, or an affected look 
of concern is upon her countenance, and " I despise," or " I 
can not bear," is the language with which she expresses the 



PUBLIC MORALS. 199 



True soitow for sji. Example of Jesis Christ. 



vexation and the impatience of her heart. But when she. 
comes into the presence of the object of her displeasure, he : . 
countenance is clothed with heartless smiles, or she assumes 
an air of dignified and cold reserve ; the two most common 
robes of disguise, — oh, how frail and thin, — with which tho 
hatred of the human heart is covered. 

Piety, on the other hand, sorrows for sin ; — the is not 
vexed and angry with it. She speaks of the guilt or the 
errors of the absent, very seldom, — and then with no irrita- 
tion or secret satisfaction. And when she is in the presence 
of one whose sins or follies she mourns, the real spontaneous 
feelings of her heart give an expression of honest kindness 
and interest to her countenance, and a friendly tone to her 
voice. The sin which she laments, she does not look upon 
as an offense against her, that arouses hostility and hatred, 
but as a source of evil and danger which awakens compassion 
and benevolent regard. Jesus Christ expressed it exactly. 
when he saw before him the crowded city of Jerusalem, 
standing out upon its hills in beauty and grandeur, — and 
then looking forward a few short years, beheld, with his 
prophetic eye, the flames bursting forth from its thousand 
dwellings, and roaring around the walls of the temple of 
God. He expressed exactly the feeling which I have been 
attempting to describe, when he said, with the most heart- 
felt sorrow, " Oh, Jerusalem, Jerusalem, how gladly would 
I have protected thee, but thou wouldst not." It was the 
city which had killed the prophets, and stoned the messen- 
gers from heaven ; and the time was drawing nigh, when he 
himself was to be led forth from the gates, condemned to 
death. But there was no malignant satisfaction in the 
Savior's heart, as he looked forward to its approaching 
overthrow. The just retribution of her awful crimes ha 
mourned over, as a destruction which he would gladly hav« 
stay°.d. 



200 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Self-deception. The public conscience 

Now the danger is, that the Christian, in his efforts tc 
promote the moral welfare of the community, will some- 
times, while he retains the tone, and the language, and the 
appearance belonging to the latter of these feelings, gradu- 
ally allow his heart to come under the unhallowed dominion 
of the former. Baffled, perhaps, in some of our well-intended 
plans, by the ingenuity, or the superior power of wicked men, 
we find it hard to avoid the feelings of vexation and anger 
which opposition generally awakens in the human soul ; 
and the enterprise which began as an honest effort to do 
good to fellow-sinners, gradually becomes an imbittered con- 
test for victory over foes. We do not perceive the change. 
We are blind to the new feelings which have obtained the 
mastery in our hearts. We do not much alter perhaps the 
language or appearances by which the spirit that actuates 
us is exhibited ; but the change, though superficially not 
very striking, is radical, and it is ruinous in regard to all 
hope of success. We lose by it, the only two means by 
which we can accomplish any thing here, — the moral power 
of honest, simple-hearted piety, — and the blessing of God. 
For a thousand instances have shown that he will abandon 
even his own cause, the moment that efforts to promote it 
degenerate into a contest for victory between man and man 

9. Consider what is the real avenue by which Christian 
principle is to gain an access to the great community, and 
an influence over its moral condition. It is the public con- 
science. There is a public conscience as well as a public 
opinion ; and this moral sense of the community is at once 
the great protector of public virtue, and the great ally and 
supporter of those who labor to promote it. It is the public 
conscience which we must arouse from her slumbers, — it is 
she who can alone open to us the brazen doors of the great 
castle of public sin. She is our confederate, our only efficient 
aid. She only can speak so as to command attention, — she 



PUBLIC MORALS. 201 



A cruel master. Means of awakening moral sentiment. 

only, when Christian principle is wanting, can restrain, at 
all, the mighty struggles of human passion, or the deliberate 
excesses of habitual sin. 

The sympathy of man with man is shown in nothing more 
strongly than in the moral sentiments. A cruel master, we 
will suppose, punishes his apprentice with undue severity, 
and a simple statement of the case is published in a news- 
paper, accompanied by an expression of just but calm indig- 
nation at the wrong. That statement, and that expression, 
though enforced perhaps by no argument, and exhibiting no 
new moral truths, awaken the moral sensibilities of the 
whole community around, in respect to the guilt of cruelty 
to a helpless boy, and though the whole story may perhaps 
soon be forgotten, the influence of it will hold back the hand 
of many a cruel master, for months or years. 

It is on the same principle, that so great efforts have been 
produced, within a few years, in curtailing the use of alco- 
hol, in its various forms, as an article of common consump- 
tion. It is not so much the power of the. argument, it is not the 
result of the economical calculations, it is not the influence 
of self-interest, or of' political management, or of popular 
declamation, that have produced the effect : — it is, on the 
other hand, the simple exhibition of facts, and the expression 
of certain moral principles in their application to them, 
which have awakened the conscience and quickened moral 
sensibility, and spread by sympathy, from heart to heart. 
This has been the great source of the power whose effects 
have been so extensive ; it is the power of one conscience, 
acting strongly, and expressing its action, to awaken another, 
until the moral sensibilities of a whole community, closely 
united as they are by this mysterious sympathy, vibrate in 
unison, and pronounce one mighty sentence of condemnation 
against the sin which has awakened its voice. 

It was in the same way, that the great victory over the 



202 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Excessive zeal. 

slave-trade was obtained in Great Britain a quarter of a 
century ago. The men who carried on that movement, 
would have been weakness and helplessness itself without 
their mighty ally. They knew where their great strength 
lay ; and they directed their efforts to awakening the moral 
sense of the community, to the end that it might pronounce 
a sentence of condemnation against the system ; not as a 
suffrage against an inexpedient political institution, but as a 
moral condemnation of a great public wrong. 

This is one great secret of all moral power. The decisions 
of one conscience, freely and calmly made, — and calmly and 
kindly, though decidedly expressed, will quicken the decisions 
of another ; and to awaken and cultivate, and concentrate 
this moral sense of the community, is the great work by 
which we are to preserve its general moral health, and 
undermine great public sins. In accomplishing this, every 
caution should be observed to avoid all which can interfere 
with this work. If by the excesses of our zeal, our exag- 
gerated statements, our censorious or dictatorial tone, our 
violence, our lukewarmness, our illogical reasoning, our over- 
bearing measures, or petty management, or any other errors, 
we give just ground for censure against ourselves, we defeat 
our own aim. The public mind, glad of an excuse for turn- 
ing away from its own guilt, makes a sally against our errors ; 
and the conscience which we were endeavoring to arouse, 
falls asleep again, while the ingenuity and the satire, or the 
more malignant hostility of the wicked, is occupied in dis- 
charging its arrows at us. We do not mean to imply by 
this, that such hostility can always be avoided, but only, 
that so far as we excite it by what is really wrong in our 
spirit or measures, we close the door in the most effectual 
manner against the only influences by which our cause can 
be saved. 

10. After all, bowever, it is comparatively little which the 



PUBLIC MORALS. 20j 

The true field of Christian labor. Political evils and their remedy. 

Christian community can do beyond its own bounds ; and 
our great work, therefore, is to expand those bounds as rap- 
idly as possible, and to purify and perfect all that is within 
them. True piety, — consisting as it does in honest obedience 
to God, and heartfelt benevolence toward man, will do its 
work in securing human happiness as fast and far as it can 
go itself. It is but a penumbra, — a twilight, — of virtue and 
happiness, which can, by the best of efforts, be carried be- 
yond. We toil to alter human institutions, — forms of gov- 
ernment, — modes of religious organization, — or systems of 
social economy, where we find them bearing heavily upon 
the welfare or the happiness of men. "We forget that it is 
human depravity which gives to human institutions all their 
efficiency in evil, and while the depravity remains, it mat - 
ters little in what forms it tyrannizes over the rights and hap- 
piness of men. A despotic monarch can do no more mischief 
than a tyrannical democracy ; in fact, on the catalogue of 
human despots, arranged in the order of injustice and cruelty, 
a Republican Committee of Safety would come first, and 
Nero would have to follow. Where there is cold-blooded 
depravity in power at the head, and corruption in the mass 
below, no matter for the forms. So in the church, — the 
worldly spirit which in England would make a bishop an 
ambitious politician, or a country pastor an idle profligate, — 
would in America, under a more democratic organization, 
show itself in factious struggles between contending parties, 
or in the wild fanaticism of a religious demagogue. All this 
does not show that it is of no consequence how our ecclesias- 
tical or political forms are arranged, but only that we are in 
danger of overrating that consequence, and that our great 
work is to spread the influence of genuine individual piety 
everywhere. This alone can go to the root of the evil. The 
thing to be done, is, not to go on changing institutions, in the 
vain hope of finding some form which will work well, while 



204 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Forms of government. Spread of individual virtue. 

depravity administers it, — but to root out depravity, and then 
almost any one will work well. We should accordingly 
learn to look without jealousy and dislike upon the political 
institutions of other countries, even if they do not correspond 
with our own theoretical notions. The theories of the re- 
flecting portion of the community, have hut little to do with 
molding their institutions ; they are regulated by circum- 
stances over which any one generation has hut little control. 
Why, for example, should England contend with America 
for heing a republic ? If she had wished to be a monarchy, 
where, I ask, could she have found a king ? It requires 
many centuries to lay any firm foundations for a throne. 
And why should America contend with England because she 
is a monarchy ? Her present constitution of government is 
an undesigned result of the growth of centuries, that no com- 
bination of human powers, which it is possible to effect in a 
single generation, can safely change. 

It is then the spread of individual virtue, and the cultiva 
tion of the moral sense of the community, which is to miti- 
gate the evils that now oppress mankind. This will alleviate 
individual sufferings, and soften the asperities of intercourse 
between man and man, and render more mild and gentle, 
the pressure of government and the necessary restraints of 
law. Public virtue must be the great means of extending 
free institutions, by relaxing everywhere the grasp of power ; 
for political power must be based on public opinion. As we 
have shown before, a certain degree of regard for life, and 
property, and of public order, is necessary to the very exist- 
ence of society, — and the degree of power on the part of the 
sovereign, necessary to secure this, public opinion will always 
tolerate and support. Where there is, in any community, a 
vast amount of degradation and vice, there will be tolerated 
a sufficient degree of military power and of governmental 
restriction, to keep it under control. Where, on the other 



PUBLIC MORALS. 



205 



France anil Now Eir.tl.md. 



hand, the community is virtuous and peaceful, government, 
whatever may be its form, must, insensibly, and by the in- 
fluence of moral causes more powerful than bayonets or can- 
non, gradually relax its hold. We see the exemplification 
;f this everywhere. In France, for example, where vital 




^5*? -^-<&*s^£ 



MILITARY GOVERXJIEN-i 



piety scarcely lingers, — what a machinery of power has been 
necessary to preserve the public order. What passports, — 
what a police, — wnat a gendarmerie! How completely is 
thb whole community, in all its ramifications, under the 
espionage and the grasp of governmental power ; by a sys- 
tem, which public opinion not only tolerates, but sustains, 
knowing that without it public tranquillity could perhaps 
not be preserved a day. And yet in New England a man 
may spend his days and scarcely perceive any signs of a 
government, — and certainly not feel its pressure personally, 



206 THE WAY TO DO GOOD 

The true 3upport of despotism. The Christian citizen. 

from his cradle to his grave. It is the public conviction of 
its necessity, which sustains the system in the one case, and 
it is its manifest uselessness which dispenses with it in the 
other. It is thus, that public vice is always the origin and 
the supporter of despotism. It is the very foundation of its 
throne. Banditti upon the highways are invaluable auxilia- 
ries to its cause, and every insurrection in the provinces, or 
riot in the city, adds to the number of its bayonets, and sup- 
plies ammunition for its cannon. And when despotism is 
thus established, revolution is no remedy. It may shift the 
power to oppress from one hand to another, but there can be 
no effectual or permanent mitigation of it but virtue and self- 
control on the part of the governed. 

We ought also to remark, before concluding the discussion 
of this chapter, that it relates to measures adopted by Chris- 
tians, as such, — that is, as members of the kingdom of Christ 
in a world in heart opposed to him. The duties of the Chris- 
tian as a citizen we do not wish here to discuss. He is a citizen 
of the state as well as others, and all the responsibilities and 
duties of citizenship belong to him fully. While he should 
most sedulously guard against an assuming or a dictatorial 
spirit, and avoid all manceuvering and intrigue, and keep his 
heart free from party spirit, and lust of office and power, — 
he should still be vigilant, and faithful, and punctual, in dis- 
charging all the duties which the constitution of his country 
imposes upon him. And whatever share of influence he may 
properly exert directly, in respect to the political administra- 
tion of his government, that he is bound to exert, in favor of 
such men and such measures as will promote the highest and 
most permanent public good. If all are faithful in the dis- 
charge of these obligations, then just so far as personal piety 
extends, so far will- the social and political condition of man 
be improved, and this is the only sure and safe mode of pro- 
gress. This subject, however, we do not now propose to go 



PUELIC MORALS. 207 

Progress of Christianity. 



into, but only to consider the extent, in which the Christian 
community, as such, may hope to exert a good influence upon 
the mass of mind around it. 

The work of the Christian, then, in this world, is mainly 
with individuals, — his object is to promote the spread of per- 
sonal, individual piety, — the highest in its standard, and the 
most extensive in its range. Then let this piety thoroughly 
inter-penetrate the whole mass of society, and mingle every- 
where with mind, so as to bring the insensible, unobtrusive, 
but most powerful influence of its presence, to act upon the 
whole mass by which it is surrounded. It must not stand 
aloof. It must be separate from the world in character, 
not in condition, it must sustain the most friendly business 
and social relations with all mankind, — and by a sort of inter- 
fusion with the mass, carry its influence everywhere. "While, 
however, piety goes thus, like the Savior, wherever there is 
sin, she must, like him, keep herself unspotted from its con- 
tamination, — firm and unyielding in her lofty principles, and 
pure in her own heavenly spirit. While she is kind, she 
must be decided ; — conciliatory and unobtrusive, while she is 
consistent and firm. Clothed in her own alluring garb, she 
must exhibit the moral beauty of obedience to God and 
benevolence toward man, and thus, while she wins multi- 
tudes to sincere repentance and eternal life, she will gently, 
but powerfully, restrain the guilt and assuage the soriows of 
the vast multitudes which yet continue in their sins. 



208 THE WAY TC DO GOOD. 

The plan of tho Savior. He founded a church. 



CHAPTER VII. ' 

THE CHURCH AND CHRISTIAN UNION. 
" Diversities of administrations, but the same Lord." 

Notwithstanding the vast importance which may justly 
be attached to private, individual effort, in the work of Doing 
Good, we must not pass slightly over another great and 
important topic, — union and co-operation. Jesus Christ did 
not merely make arrangements for the spread of personal 
piety from heart to heart, — he founded a church. He took 
measures for concentrating the moral power which he intro- 
duced, and for linking together his followers by ties which 
formed at once their strength and their protection. But the 
human heart, always ready to find some door of escape 
where it may go astray, and especially always prone to slip 
away from what is spiritual to what is external, has per- 
verted our Savior's original design, until at length, after the 
lapse of eighteen centuries, the arrangement which was in- 
tended by him, to establish forever union and harmony, has 
resulted in the very extreme of separation and division. 

It is not, however, the number of distinct ecclesiastical 
organizations now existing, that constitutes the main evil, — 
it is the spirit of dissension and jealousy, not to say hostility, 
which separates them from one another. For example, a 
comparatively small degree of inconvenience or injury would 
result, perhaps, from the arrangement by which the church 
of Scotland stands a different organization from the church 



THE CHURCH AND CHRISTIAN UNION. 205 

Various branches. Dissensions among them. 

of England, — each having its own officers, its own rules and 
its own usages, and thus each being independent of the other, 
— provided the two would occupy their respective parts of 
the vineyard, as distinct, but friendly divisions of the same 
great family, — each enjoying the confidence and affection of 
the other. In the same manner, there might be little incon- 
venience or injury from having a Methodist and a Congre- 
gational church in the same city, in which case the respec- 
tive fields of the two organizations would be marked off, not 
indeed by territorial limits, but by the different tastes, or 
habits, or pursuits of different classes of the community. We 
do not say that it would be better to have two such organi- 
zations of the Savior's followers, rather than one, — but only 
that it would not be much worse, were it not for a spirit of 
dissension and hostility between them. If the portions into 
which the church is divided were friendly families, nearly 
all the evils of the division would disappear, and there 
would be some great advantages to balance those which 
should remain. But instead of being friendly families, they 
are, in fact, too often hostile tribes, expending quite as much 
of their ammunition upon one another, as upon the common 
enemy ; so that the evil consists, not so much in the lines of 
demarkation by which the great body of believers are sepa- 
rated, as in the brazen walls of jealousy, mistrust, and excom- 
munication, which are erected on these lines. It is these 
last which make the mischief. 

The cause of our difficulty seems to be the tendency of 
mankind to run into an inordinate attachment to forms. 
Forms are something distinct and tangible, and associations 
of interest and attachment cling to them easily and strongly. 
Then again, the religious usages to which we are ourselves 
accustomed are the ones which are in our minds when we 
read the Scriptures, and we associate them with the direc- 
tions and descriptions given there, so strongly, as at length 



210 



THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 



Religious party spirit. 



insensibly to imbibe the belief, that these very usages were 
the ones referred to and practiced in tbose days ; each reader 
thus making his own accidental experience a part of his 

interpretation. Thus 

WET 




CHILDISH CONCEPTIONS 



the officer or the ordi- 
nance which we read 
of, is always the officer 
or the ordinance which 
we are accustomed to ; 
just as every farmer's 
child when reading the 
story of the babe in the 
manger, alwayspictures 
to himself a scene from 
his own father's ham. 
Then, besides, there is 
party spirit, a form 
of human depravity, 
not slow to show itself 
in the most sacred re- 
lations of the soul. We love to have our party prosper, and 
so we are ardent and zealous for the interests of our own 
pale ; for thus, by the self-delusion which is the inveterate 
and perpetual characteristic of sin, we can have the satisfac- 
tion of thinking that our ardor is for the cause of God, while 
in fact we are only glorifying ourselves. And of all the in- 
accessible and impregnable fortresses of sin, this is certainly 
the worst. Human selfishness and pride are firm and im- 
movable enough, when open and undisguised ; — and real, 
devoted love to God, too, will sometimes stand its ground 
well ; — but when pride, and selfishness, and party zeal clothe 
themselves with the garb of pretended piety, and do it so 
adroitly as to deceive their very victim, you have head- 
strong, unmanageable and indomitable obstinacy personified. 



THE CHURCH AND CHRISTIAN UNION. 211 

Two ways to make peace. 

The pride and selfishness of party spirit which constitute 
the real spring, are far within, protected by the superficial 
covering from all attack and all exposure. This kind of 
character is found in every denomination of Christians, and 
it is the spirit which this diffuses and creates, that gives all 
its acrimony to the division of the church ; which division 
might otherwise he considered as an amicable arrangement, 
intended to accommodate Christianity in its external forms 
to the changing events and tastes and habits of different ages 
and climes. 

There are two modes by which the Christian church may 
attempt to promote a state of greater harmony. One is, for 
each denomination to struggle to bring all the others upon 
its own ground, — which plan has been for some time in the 
course of trial, and the result of the experiment thus far, is, 
that the opposing forces of the contending parties neutralize 
each other, and the only result which remains is a gradual 
thickening of the walls, and raising of the battlements, and 
strengthening of the bulwarks by which they are separated. 
I need not say that I have no intention, in this chapter, of 
engaging in this work. 

The other plan is, while we leave each of the great divi- 
sions of the Christian family in the peaceful occupancy of its 
own ground, to endeavor to diminish, and ultimately to de- 
stroy, the walls of jealousy and dislike which separate them. 
The way to do this is for us to learn to attach less importance 
to these differences. This we shall easily do, if we look into 
the Bible with an honest desire to understand the real place 
which forms and modes of organization occupy there. This 
question I now propose to examine. 

It was one of the most admirable provisions made to secure 
the spread of religion in such a world as this, that it was not 
left as a mere general principle to work its way itself among 
mankind Jesus Christ not only taught the principles of 



212 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Union of Christians necessary. Subordinate place of forms. 

piety; — but he took measures for the founding of a church. 
He provided for the embodying of his followers in united 
bands, and he showed by this arrangement his knowledge of 
a principle which the philosophers of those days were not 
shrewd enough to discover. And, as a distinguished writer 
has observed, if he had contented himself with merely teach- 
ing Christianity, without founding a church, the results of 
his labors could not have been expected, on human probabil- 
ities, to have survived his death by a single century. Yes ; 
the union, the regular organization of the disciples of Christ, 
is anessential part of the plan of Christianity. To make 
each individual Christian isolated and solitary in such a world 
as this, would be almost as ruinous as the disbanding of an 
army upon the field of battle. It is not, therefore, the neces- 
sity of an organization itself, but the precise form and method 
in which the organization is effected, that we are prone to 
over-estimate. While the latter, the mode and form of or- 
ganization, has been continually fluctuating from the days of 
Abraham to the present hour, the former, the necessity of or- 
ganized union itself, has remained during all these centuries 
unchanged, and must remain fixed and immovable as long as 
human nature continues as it is. 

He, however, who honestly wishes to know the will of God 
in respect to this subject, will find, in looking carefully into 
it, a great many very striking evidences that the particular 
modes and forms by which the organization of good men in 
this world is effected, assume, in the divine counsels, a very- 
subordinate and secondary place. And let me remind the 
reader, before I proceed to mention some of these evidences, 
that we are all exposed to a very strong bias while looking at 
them. We have ourselves been educated in one Christian 
communion, — accustomed for many years to one system, and 
the usages which have thus become so familiar to us, have 
entwined themselves around our hearts, and linked with 



THE CHURCH AND CHRISTIAN UNION. 213 

Attachment to them. 

themselves all our most sacred associations. All this is well. 
It is perfectly right that we should cling with feelings of in- 
terest and attachment to what we have loved and venerated 
bo long. But then it is hard for us to distinguish between 
what is thus hallowed to us, as individuals, from the circum- 
stances of our past history, and what is absolutely enjoined 
by the word of God, and which we are accordingly to insist 
upon from others. But we ought to distinguish between them. 
While we cling, with as strong an attachment as we please, 
to the institutions whose happy influence we have enjoyed 
for so many years that our religious sentiments and feelings 
are inextricably interwoven with them, — we should still be 
willing to open our eyes to the distinction between what we 
have thus ourselves justly learned to love, and what God has 
absolutely enjoined upon all. While, then, I bring forward 
the indications that God considers the particular mode by 
which his friends are organized, as of secondary and subordi- 
nate, importance, give them, reader, a candid hearing : and 
remember that they are not intended to dimmish your attach- 
ment to the institutions which you love, but only to increase 
your indulgence for those who, by precisely the same causes, 
are led to love institutions somewhat different from yours. 

In the examination of this subject, then, we shall endeavor 
to throw some light upon the degree of importance which 
God attaches to the particular forms of government and dis- 
cipline under which his people are united, by the establish- 
ment of the following propositions. 

PROPOSITIONS. 

1. Forms of ecclesiastical organization, while they were 
under the special direction of God, in ancient days were not 
fixed and permanent, but were changed continually, accord- 
ing to the exigencies of the times. These changes continued 
down to the close of the Scripture history. 



214 THE WAY TO DO GOOD.- 

The eight propositions. Changes. 

2. The forms which were in use at the close of the Scrip 
ture history, were only usages incidentally introduced, from 
time to time, and not adopted as a system deliberately ar 
ranged and established once for all. 

3. The description of these usages is very indistinct and 
incomplete. 

4. The apostles were not strict and uniform in the observ- 
ance of them. 

5. Their present authority rests on the mere practice of 
good men, in early times, which is nowhere in the Scriptures 
made binding. 

6. The most complete system which can be drawn from 
these records of early practice, is not at all sufficient for the 
present wants of the church. 

7. The union of Christians, under any one consolidated 
ecclesiastical government, must be highly dangerous, if not 
fatal to the cause of true piety. 

8. God sanctions, by the influences of his Holy Spirit, the 
existence and the operations of all those denominations of 
Christians, whatever may be their forms, whose faith and 
practice correspond with his Word. 

These propositions we now proceed to consider. 

I. Forms of ecclesiastical organization, while they con- 
tinued under the special direction of God in ancient days, 
were not fixed and permanent, but were continually changed, 
to meet the emergencies of the times. 

God has always had a body of true and faithful friends in 
the world, and he might easily have adopted a plan for 
uniting them, from the beginning, in a church, with pre- 
scribed and permanent forms of government and worship. In 
fact, if he had entertained the views on this subject, which 
the Christian church is prone to entertain at the present day, 



THE CHURCH AND CHRISTIAN UNION. 215 

Times of Abraham, Moses, and David. 

he would have done so. Abraham and Melchisedec would 
have heen joined into a regular church, with rules for gov- 
ernment and worship which should have been exactly pre- 
scribed and made the model for all succeeding generations. 
But instead of such a plan God bas made the precise mode 
of union as changeable as the varying circumstances of every 
age. In Abraham's time, the faithful constituted simply a 
family, governed by patriarchal rules, and offering a very 
simple worship. In the time of Moses, circumstances change, 
and the whole ecclesiastical arrangements of his people 
change with them. We have the church and the state not 
merely united, but absolutely identified, — governed by very 
peculiar rules and usages, which were evidently not only 
temporary, but from their very nature, limited and local. In 
the days of Joshua, the church, which was before a moving 
state, takes the new character of an invading army ; and 
military rules, military customs, and military movements, 
very seriously affect and modify all the arrangements of the 
government and worship of the church of God. The whole 
Levitical system, planned and minutely described by Jehovah 
himself, was local and temporary, — confined necessarily to 
one small nation, occupying a spot scarcely discernible on the 
map of the world, and limited by the very termination which 
God himself intended for it, to a few hundred years. 

If the reader should say that there were peculiar reasons 
arising out of the circumstances of the occasion, why a local 
and a temporary ecclesiastical arrangement should be made 
for the Jews, he would be doubtless correct, and would come 
to what is, unquestionably, the true principle, namely, that 
in respect to ecclesiastical forms, it always has been God's 
design to regard the circumstances of the case in the regula- 
tion of them. With the view, which ice are prone to enter- 
tain, we should have placed church government and the 
forms of worship on a fixed and permanent basis at the very 



216 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Time of the Savior. His ecclesiastical polity. 

beginning, — making the system go on unchanged from gene- 
ration to generation, — pursuing its steady and unalterable 
way over monarchies and republics, in civilized and savage 
life, still the same in every age, and among all nations, lan- 
guages, and realms. But God in the most systematic, and 
formal, and minutely detailed ecclesiastical arrangement 
which he ever made, only intended it for one single province, 
and for a few centuries ; and in effect, he swept it all away 
himself by a foreign invasion, long before the time arrived 
which was appointed for its close. 

We will not stop to notice how different the state of the 
church of God must have been in the time of the captivity, 
— nor the changes which took place on the return, when 
the introduction of the synagogue modified the whole plan 
of public worship. We pass on to the Savior's day, when 
the constitution of the church was totally different from 
what it ever was before, or has been since. It may be given 
thus. 

1. Twelve apostles. 

2. Seventy itinerant ministers, traveling two and two. 

3. One treasurer. 

4. ISTo local churches. 

5. Meetings in the open air. 

6. Ministry supported by the voluntary contributions and 
hospitality of its friends. 

7. Funds of the ministry in common. 

8. No lay organization whatever. 

And even these arrangements seem not to have been made 
as the result of any settled plan ; measures were adopted to 
suit emergencies, and the above was the result. If Jesus 
Christ had entertained the views which are very common 
now in every denomination of Christians, one of the first 
things which would have attracted his attention, would have 
been the work of settling the constitution of the Christian 



THE CHURCH AND CHRISTIAN UNION. . 217 

Ecclesiastical polity of the apostles. 

church. The forms of government, discipline, and worship, 
would have been fixed and minutely described, for the guid- 
ance of his followers in all future time. But he could not 
have entertained such views ; for he took a totally different 
course. He adopted, for the time being, such measures as 
suited his own purposes, — which were as peculiar as the 
circumstances in which he was placed ; and when he left the 
world, and the circumstances under which he acted were 
changed, the whole ecclesiastical polity which was founded 
on them, was changed too. 

For after the lapse of a very few years from the death of 
Christ, the reader of the New Testament finds himself sur- 
rounded by quite a different system of religious institutions. 
We have then, 

1. A ministry, sometimes itinerant and sometimes station- 
ary. 

2. Seven deacons. 

3. Local churches. 

4. Somewhat regular ordination. 

5. Ecclesiastical councils. 

6. An enumeration of four or five different officers, not 
including deacons, viz. apostles, prophets, evangelists, pas- 
tors, and teachers.* 

7. In some sense, and to some extent, not however very 
distinctly denned, a community of goods. 

"We will not follow the history of God's people any farther, 
to show that the forms of their organization have been con- 
tinually changing since then, for the reader might insist that 
all subsequent changes have been unauthorized and wrong. 
But, after looking at the facts which we have just stated, no 
one can deny that so long as God himself exercised a direct 

* Ephesians iv. 11. And he (i. e. Christ) gave some apostles; 
and some prophets; and some evangelists; and some pastors and 
teachers, for the perfecting of the saints, &c. 
K 



218 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Apostolic arrangements provisional. 

control over the external arrangements make by his people, 
he changed them continually, according to the exigencies of 
the times. And this seems to show that while he may at- 
tach great importance to organized combination itself, he 
must regard the particular mode by which it is to be ef- 
fected, as of secondary and subordinate account. 
We come now to the second proposition. 

II. The forms which are introduced at the close of the 
scripture history, grew out of usages incidentally introduced, 
from time to time. They were not adopted as a system de- 
liberately arranged and established once for all. 

It is remarkable how entirely provisional, as statesmen 
term it, were all the ecclesiastical arrangements made by 
the apostles. That is, the most important parts of their sys- 
tem were introduced in succession, — on emergencies, — to an- 
swer particular and often temporary purposes, instead of 
having been framed as a whole, with a general view to the 
permanent and universal wants of the church. The disciples 
did not come together after the ascension, as we, in modern 
times, should very probably have done, to form a constitution 
for the church, wisely framed and adjusted, to cover the 
whole ground. No. They went to their work at once, giv- 
ing their whole souls to the preaching of the gospel ; and, as 
from time to time emergencies arose, requiring new arrange- 
ments, they met the cases as they occurred. For example, 
they did not make a general rule, that all important appoint- 
ments should be made by election, and provide by rule, for 
the contingency of two prominent candidates, in such elec- 
tions. But when they came together, to fill Judas's place, 
they concluded, in that case, to elect, and when they found 
that there were two principal candidates, they concluded, in 
that case, to decide by lot. Did they intend this to be a 



THE CHURCH AND CHRISTIAN UNION. 219 

Election. Ordinations. The grand council. 

precedent, to govern the mode of Christian elections in all 
coming time ? 

After a while, an emergency occurred, requiring aid for the 
apostles in a certain business, altogether peculiar to that age 
and country, and they determined to appoint seven deacons, 
with special reference to that emergency. This was the 
origin of the appointment of deacons. 

In the same manner, the rules of ordination were not 
adopted as general rules ; hut when the churches wished to 
send Paul and Barnabas on a foreign mission, they ordained 
them to that work ;* and when Paul left Titus in Crete, he 
gave him, Titus, directions about ordaining elders in that 
particular island, Crete. On one occasion, a question arose 
which it seemed difficult to settle, and a general consultation 
was agreed upon. This formed the first council. It was 
called, not as the first regular meeting of a body organized as 
a model for all coming times, but as a special assembly, re- 
sorted to for a temporary and single emergency. It will be 
found by reading the book of the Acts, that all the ecclesias- 
tical arrangements of the apostles were made in this way ; 
they were not adopted at once, as a whole ; they were not 
the results of a deliberate plan to frame a system for them- 
selves and posterity ; they were provisional, temporary ar- 
rangements, resorted to successively, at distant intervals of 
time, to aid in existing emergencies, and to remove difflcul 
ties as they occurred. This does not, indeed, prove that we 
have nothing in these days to do with the example of the 
early Christians, but it does prove, most certainly, that they 
entertained views very different from those which often pre- 
vail in this age of the world, in respect to the nature and 
province of ecclesiastical forms. 

* We shall hereafter see that they had both b< en regi lar and ae 
knowledged ministers some time before this ordination. 



220 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Description of usages. Levitical law. Fourth commandment. 

III. The description of these usages is very indistinct and 
incomplete. 

The knowledge which we gain of them is not given 
in any formal and methodical description, but in incidental 
allusions, scattered through the Acts and the Epistles 
This is indicative of the degree of importance attached to 
them by the sacred writers. Contrast it with the methodical 
and systematic manner, in which the various subjects con- 
nected with religious truth, are exhibited in the Epistle to 
the Romans, or that in which practical duty in all the rela- 
tions of life, is drawn out and enforced in other epistles ; 
and this, too, when it must be admitted by common consent, 
that forms of government, more than any thing else, if in- 
tended to be binding, must be precise, and minute, and 
exact in all their specifications. God has himself given us 
one example of this, in the statutes relating to ecclesiastical 
government and modes of worship among the Jews. There 
is a model. The Holy Spirit, in dictating the books of 
Leviticus and Deuteronomy, recognized the necessity of be- 
ing minute, and particular, and specific in the extreme, in a 
record of forms which were intended to be binding even upon 
one nation, and for a limited time. But when at length these 
forms came to be abrogated, and a spiritual religion came to 
take their place, we have instead of the methodical and well • 
digested systems clearly described, — only incidental allusions 
to the practice of individuals in the peculiar emergencies in 
which they were placed. 

There is the institution of the Sabbath too, which, in 
respect to the distinctness with which its enactment and 
observance is announced, shows us how specific and direct 
God's commands are, when they enjoin external observances 
on which he really lays a stress. Announced in general 
terms as universally binding, at the creation, and then,— 



THE CHURCH AND CHRISTIAN UNION. 221 



Not strictly observed. 



as soon as the state of society made written records of value, 
— placed upon stone, in language definite and exact, almost 
to legal technicality, it stands a model of legislative precision. 
Read the fourth commandment, and then collect together and 
read, all that is said of the mode of Christian ordination, 01 
the orders of the ministry, and note the contrast. 

"We do not here say how far this ought to influence us, 
but, certainly no candid man can deny that it is worthy of 
consideration, and should seriously affect, to some degree, at 
least, our views of the proper place of forms in the Christian 
system. 

IV. The apostles were not strict and uniform in the ob- 
servance of these usages. 

We might show this at length, if time and space would 
allow, by going into a full examination of the ecclesiastical 
arrangements of the early church, and showing, in detail, 
how changeable and fluctuating they were. It will, however, 
be sufficient to take a specimen, especially if we take some 
one so conspicuous and important in its character, that we 
may safely reason from that to the others. 

There is, for example, ordination : for we might expect 
that if punctilious uniformity were to be insisted on, in any 
ecclesiastical forms, it would be in the mode of induction to 
the sacred office. And we find accordingly that a very 
prominent and important place is assigned to this rite, in 
our discussions at the present day. We select it, however, 
here, not with any reference to these discussions, but only as 
a conspicuous and proper specimen of the whole class of cere- 
monial observances to which it belongs. 

In the first place, we may safely infer a great deal, in 
respect to the importance attached to the mere mode of 
induction to the sacred office, from the manner in which 



222 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 



Ordination of the twelve. 



the whole subject of the ordination of the twelve 
is dismissed, with the words, " And he ordained twelve." 
Just think of the occasion, — think of the men, their number, 
the position they occupied, conspicuous and important beyond 
all others, — and then consider, how imposing and solemn 
would have been the ceremony, and how detailed a descrip- 
tion would have been given of it, if the views and feelings 
of modern times, on such a subject, had been entertained by 
our Savior. Instead of this, it is simply said, " And he 
ordained twelve ;" language, which, according to the opinion 
of the ablest commentators, means only that he appointed 
them, set them apart, without at all implying any ceremonial 
observance whatever, in inducting them into office. 

In the succeeding portions of the New Testament, the 
ordaining of the apostles and preachers, who were succes- 
sively added to the original number, is very seldom alluded 
to. Contrast this with the prominence given to the time and 
the place, and all the circumstances of the ordination of a 
Christian minister, in modern biography. The prominence 
given to this solemnity in modern times, we do not complain 
of as at all too great. A distinct and special preparation, 
a formal examination, and an induction into office, by appro- 
priate ceremonies, are altogether more necessary, to guard 
against improper admissions to it now, in a community where 
all are professedly Christian, than they were in apostolic 
days, when a simple desire to preach the gospel was almost 
of itself, proof of competence and honesty. The various 
ceremonial observances, by which different denominations 
have, in modern times, guarded the entrances to the gospel 
ministry, are thus highly necessary ; but we ought to under- 
stand, that the necessity arises out of the circumstances of 
modern times, and not out of any binding obligation in favor 
of the precise forms, which we respectively adopt, arising 
from apostolic practices. 



THE CHURCH AND CHFaSTIAN UNION. 223 

Ordination of Paul. . Ceremony waved, and why. 

There is much light thrown upon this subject, by the case 
of the Apostle Paul. He seems not to have been ordained 
at all upon his first entrance into the ministry. Immediately 
upon his conversion, he went, at once, to preaching the gos- 
pel at Damascus, and it was three years before he had oppor- 
tunity even "to confer with flesh and blood," as he terms it, 
referring to the other apostles, from whom, according to our 
theories, he could alone have derived any proper authority 
to preach. 

But, the reader will say, that, as Paul had an interview 
with the Savior himself, he derived his authority directly 
from him, and that there was no need of ordination in his case. 
This is undoubtedly true, and it shows at once, without far- 
ther reasoning, exactly in what light the Founder of Chris- 
tianity regards forms ; as important indeed, but important as 
a means, not as an end. For here, where the spiritual title 
was so sure, the Savior was content to waA r e the ceremony 
If now he had intended to enforce upon all succeeding times 
the indispensable necessity of any particular ceremonial con- 
ditions or induction into the ministry, what an admirable 
occasion offered itself, in the case of Paul, to show this, and 
to teach the lesson to all future ages. Instead of authoriz- 
ing him, at once, to preach the gospel, suppose he had enjoined 
him to wait until he should return to Jerusalem, and there 
be regularly inducted into office, according to the princi- 
ples of ordination which had been established for the church. 
This would have been, according to the known practice of 
our Savior in all cases of forms, really binding. The parents 
of the Savior, under divine direction, took him to the temple, 
when he was eight years old, and conformed exactly to all the 
Mosaic ceremonies of circumcision and sacrifice. Those cere- 
monial laws were then hi force, and the exalted dignity of the 
Savior was made no plea of exemption. When he cured the 



224 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Paul not ordained by Ananias. 

leper, he said to him,* " Go show thyself to the priest, and 
offer for thy cleansing- according as Moses commanded, for a 
testimony unto them." What ! shall the man whom Jesus 
Christ had cleansed, find it necessary to go and secure a 
ceremonial purification, according to the law of Moses? Yes. 
And why ? That he might show that the Son of God, ex- 
alted in rank and character as he is, will give the sanction 
of his example to conformity with even ceremonial law, 
when he comes within its jurisdiction. On this principle 
Jesus attended worship at the synagogues, he paid his taxes, 
he ate the passover, and his whole story shows that he 
would have been the last to have dispensed, on such an 
occasion as this, with any of the forms which he had really 
established as essential modes of regulation for the Christian 
church. 

Perhaps the reader may maintain, in order to avoid the 
force of the foregoing reasoning, that Paul's interview with 
Ananias, when the latter laid his hands upon him, immedi- 
ately after his conversion, was his ordination to the work of 
the ministry. The account is given in the 9th chapter of the 
Acts, — but it is expressly stated, that the object of this laying 
on of hands, was not to induct him into the ministry, but 
that he might receive his sight. And then, besides, this 
ceremony took place actually before Paul's baptism. Can 
any contender for regularity in forms suppose that Paul was 
ordained a minister of the gospel before he was baptized ? 

Besides, Paul was long after ordained, when he was sent 
forth as a missionary with Barnabas at Antioch, as recorded, 
Acts xiii. 2, 3 : " The Holy Ghost said, Separate me Barna- 
bas and Saul, for the work whereunto I have called them. 
And when they had fasted and prayed, and laid their hands 
on them, they sent them away." This, it must be observed, 
was after both of them had been for a long time most active 
* Luke v. 14. 



THE CHURCH AND CHRISTIAN UNION. 226 

Apollo9. The ceremony of ordination, a specimen. 

and efficient preachers of the gospel, of universally acknowl 
edged authority. With the views so often entertained in 
modern times, respecting ordination in a prescribed mode, as 
the only proper induction to the duties of the Christian min- 
istry, how can this case he explained ? 

The case of Apollos, too, is remarkable. He was born in 
Alexandria, and came to Ephesus, preaching repentance and 
a coming Savior. Eloquent and mighty in the Scriptures, 
his preaching had great power, but so far from having been 
regularly ordained by the apostles, — " he kneio only the bap- 
tism of John." While, however, he was thus preaching all 
that he had learned of the truth, Aquila and Priscilla met 
with him. And what did they do ? Did they censure him 
for pretending to preach without apostolic ordination ? Did 
they remonstrate, — did they attempt to silence him ? JSTo. 
They took him unto them, and " expounded the way of God 
more perfectly," and then bid him go on. They gave him 
letters of introduction to the churches in Achaia, exhorting 
the disciples to receive him.* And in the same manner, we 
shall find in regard to a large portion of the early preachers, 
that there is no record or account of their ordination as min- 
isters of the gospel, whatever. Whereas, if it had been in- 
tended that the church should, in all coming times, comply 
with certain conditions of ordination, as essential to the proper 
exercise of the duties of the Christian ministry, there certain- 
ly would have been good care taken to show that they were 
complied with then. 

We have taken the ceremony of ordination, only, as a con- 
spicuous specimen. Almost any of the other forms connected 
with the organization of the church might have been taken 
just as well. And, let me repeat here, that these consider- 
ations do not at all go to the undermining or disturbing of 
the regular ordinances of the Christian church, as now ad* 
* See the whole account, in the close of the 18th chapter of tie Act* 
K* 



226 THE WAY TO DO GOOD 

Apostolic practice not infallible. 

ministered by the various denominations of our day. These 
views, if we adopt them, will not diminish our attachment 
to the forms of our own church, for the regular and appro- 
priate administration of its government ; they will only lead 
us to jease to look with jealousy and distrust upon the forms 
and principles adopted by other denominations, varying some- 
what from ours. 

V. The present authority of these usages, rests only on 
the mere practice of good men in early times, which is no- 
where in the Scriptures made binding. 

It is evident, that apostolic practice was not always under 
divine direction, and, if we attempt to make it an infallible 
guide, we have no positive means of knowing when it was, 
and when it was not. In some cases, it is distinctly stated 
that the conduct of the Apostles was directed by the Holy Spirit. 
For instance, in the case of sending Paul and Barnabas on 
their first mission, " The Holy Ghost said, Separate me Bar- 
nabas and Saul," &c. And so in another case; "They as- 
sayed to go into Bithynia, but the Spirit suffered them not." 
The interference of a divine influence seems to be mentioned 
in these cases, as special, — extraordinary. At any rate, we 
know perfectly well that in many of the acts of their admin- 
istration these holy men were not under divine guidance 
Of this, the case of contention, which occurred between Bar- 
nabas and Saul is a melancholy proof. The question in that 
case was, it is true, only a question of private, individual ac- 
tion ; but then there were other cases where the apostlea 
were evidently left to their own judgment and discretion, in 
regard to the most important measures of the church. The 
case described in G-alatians ii. 11 — 13,* is a very striking 

* But ■when Peter was come to Antioch, I withstood him to the face, 
Yx'cause he was to be blamed. For before that certain came from 



THE CHURCH AND CHRISTIAN UNION. 227 

Distinction between writings and acts. 

one of this sort. The question related to the course which 
should be taken with the Gentile converts, in regard to the 
obligations of the old Jewish law. It involved the vital sub- 
ject of the connection between the old dispensation and the 
new, and the manner in which the latter should be engrafted 
upon the former. There could scarcely be named a subject 
connected with the external forms of Christianity, more fun- 
damental than this. Yet Peter, Peter himself, the very 
apostle to whom the gospel of circumcision was specially 
committed,* was left to err in regard to it, and to take an 
altogether wrong course. His error led Barnabas astray, and 
Paul comes in and sharply reproves him before them all. 
"With such a case as this on record, we certainly can not 
maintain the infallibility of apostolic practice. 

We ought to make .a clear distinction between the truths, 
which sacred writers have recorded, and the actions, which 
they perform. This distinction is not always made. We 
confound the inspiration of the writings contained in the 
Scriptures, with the inspiration of the conduct of those who 
penned them. Now it is the Scriptures, that is, the written 
records of truth, which are our only rule of faith and practice. 
The actual measures adopted in those days, are totally dis- 
tinct ; and it is, we believe, nowhere claimed by the sacred 
writers, that their actions, — (whether in their private con- 
duct, or in their administration of the affairs of the church,) — 
are an infallible guide for us. In fact, if we read the New 
Testament attentively, with a view to this point, we shall 
be satisfied that the apostles, in their administration cf the 
church, acted for themselves, and for their own times, not 

James, he did eat with the Gentiles : but -when they were ccme, he 
withdrew, and separated himself, fearing them which were of the cir- 
cumcision. And the other Jews dissembled likewise with him ; inso- 
much that Barnabas, also, was carried away with their dissimulation, 
* GaL ii. 1. 



228 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

The Apostles left to act for themselves. 

expecting that their conduct would he regarded as a binding 
precedent for all future ages. In their record, whether of 
historical events, or of revealed religious truth, they were 
infallibly guided ; but in their actions, they were left to their 
own judgment and discretion, — subject, of course, to the in- 
fluence of such general principles and truths as had been 
revealed to them. Consequently, they went on acting as 
occasion demanded ; adopting such plans and measures, or 
applying such remedies, as were called for by the peculiar 
emergencies in which they were placed. Sometimes they 
were right, sometimes they were wrong, — sometimes they 
were checked in their proposed measures by a special inter- 
ference of the Holy Spirit, sometimes they disagreed and even 
contended ; and if we attempt to give to any of their meas- 
ures the authority of a precedent, binding upon the church 
in all ages, we can not possibly draw a line between what is 
thus authoritative and what is not. 

Still, we must not go to the other extreme, and disregard 
the examples which they have set us. The practices and 
usages of the early Christians constitute the very best model, 
no doubt, for us to study and to imitate. They enjoyed the 
most favorable opportunities of knowing what would be 
agreeable to the will of their Master, and their hearts were 
warm with a devotedness to his cause which must have led 
them to do his will, in the most strict and faithful manner. 
We ought therefore to study their acts, and to imitate the 
principles by which they were guided. But when we at- 
tempt to extend to their conduct the infallibility which be- 
longs only to their writings, — when we give to their meas- 
ures and administration an authority to bind all succeeding 
times, we insist upon what they never claimed for themselves, 
and what can not, in theory, be supported, in the case of any 
scripture character whatever. Noah, David, Solomon, Dan 



THE CHURCH AND CHRISTIAN DNION. 229 

Apostolic example of great value. 

iel, Paul, Peter, and John, give abundant evidence that they 
were inspired as 'penmen alone. 

The disposition thus to exalt the measures and administra- 
tion adopted by the apostles, into precedents binding upon 
our forms of organization, as their writings are upon our be- 
lief and moral conduct, — though it is thus utterly baseless 
and defenseless in theory, — steals insensibly over our minds, 
and exerts a powerful influence. In fact we could not possi- 
bly attach infallibility to apostolic practice as an avowed 
theory. Such a doctrine could not be maintained for an 
hour ; but it insensibly creeps into our minds, and we find 
ourselves tacitly admitting, and silently acting upon that, 
which, as a distinctly stated proposition, we should immedi- 
ately reject. I repeat it, that apostolic example is of im- 
mense value and importance to us, — but it is not authorita- 
tive precedent, so that we are to reduce it to system, and 
force it upon every company of Christians on the globe, upon 
pain of excommunication. And yet the attempt to do this is 
the true secret of the divisions and jealousies which prevail 
in the Christian world. The incidental, scattered, and im- 
perfect allusions, which the Apostles made, to the measures 
they thought called for in their days, in which there is no 
evidence whatever that they were infallibly guided, and 
which they probably never thought would be looked back 
upon as infallible precedents, — these allusions we search out 
and bring together, — we build up a great deal of meaning 
upon expressions very brief and few, and we mingle with the 
natural import of the record, the recollections and associa- 
tions with which our own peculiar religious history has stored 
cur minds, — and the complicated system which we thus 
[crm, we insist, is essential to Christianity. 

VI. The most complete system which can be drawn from 



230 THE WAY TO DO fcOOD. 

Scripture system incomplete. Congregational additions ;— Episcopal. 

these records of early practice, is not at all sufficient for the 
present wants of the Church. 

This is admitted by the fact, that every denomination in 
Christendom has found it necessary in practice to make many 
additions of their own, to what the Scriptures have taught, 
in order to complete their system. If any precise form of 
organization, under which the church was to exist in all 
ages had been intended to be prescribed, we should have 
expected that a complete and sufficient system would have 
been detailed, or at least exemplified, in the primitive model. 
Instead of this, the practice of every denomination in Chris- 
tendom admits that after all that the most persevering inge- 
nuity can draw from the Scriptures has been obtained, there 
must be many human additions to the edifice, to give it 
completion. The Congregationalist finds no authority in the 
Scriptures for his examining committee, nor for his articles 
of faith, nor for his system of licensing preachers, nor for his 
election of a pastor by concurrence of church and society, nor 
for his associations, or his consociations, or his conferences. 
And yet these things may all be right, — they are the best 
modes which he can devise for accomplishing very important 
purposes, and for which the directions as to forms, left us in 
the New Testament, make no provision. And how can we 
account for their not having been provided for, if the precise 
regulation of forms had been considered by the sacred writers 
an object of very special importance. 

The Episcopalian, too, is in the same case. He can find 
no authority or precedent in the Scriptures, and so far as we 
know, he pretends to find none, for his rite of confirmation, 
his consecration of buildings and grounds, his church war- 
dens, his vestry, his liturgy, his saints' days, his archbishops 
and lords primate in one country, and his general conven- 
tions in another. We do not find fault with these arrange- 



THE CHURCH AND CHRISTIAN UNION. 231 

The most essential points unprovided for. 

msnts on account of there being no scripture authority for 
themr Though they are all human institutions and arrange- 
ments, they are very admirably adapted, most of them, to 
the purposes intended. And as the Holy Spirit allowed the 
Bible to be brought to a close, without giving any directions 
in regard to the very important objects which they aim at 
securing, the church is necessarily left to frame institutions 
for itself, to cover this ground. Every denomination has 
virtually acknowledged this, by resorting to plans and meas- 
ures for which nothing like a prototype can be found in 
early ages. In fact, we are all compelled to do this, for 
many of the most immediate and imperious wants of the 
church, in respect to its government and discipline, seem to 
be left without any arrangements for supplying them in the 
sacred record. If the sacred writers had felt that the precise 
mode in which Christianity is embodied in organized forms 
was of as much importance as we are often inclined to sup- 
pose, and if they had intended to frame a system for this 
purpose, and hand it down as a model for all posterity, is it 
conceivable that they would have made no provision for the 
mode of supporting the gospel, or any of the temporalities 
of the church, nor for the mode of electing or appointing 
pastors, nor for the examination of candidates, nor for the 
admission of members, nor for the trial and deposition of 
false teachers, nor for the management of missionary opera- 
tions, nor for the erection and control of houses for public 
worship ? In the Jewish law, points analogous to these 
were most minutely and fully provided for by ample specifi- 
cations ; for there it was the intention to prescribe a form. 

The reader may, perhaps, endeavor to avoid the conclusion 
to which these undeniable facts would lead him, by saying 
that all essential arrangements are made, and that it is 
things of secondary importance only, which are left to human 
discretion. This is however, not so. Some of the particu- 



232 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Possible perversion of these views. 

lars enumerated above are of the very first importance, and 
yet provision for them is wholly omitted. Others, of very 
far less importance, are prescribed. Compare, for instance, 
the mode of baptism, whether by sprinkling or immersion, 
with the mode of examining candidates for admission into 
the church, or the mode of choosing pastors, or of collecting 
the support of the ministry. While we admit that the 
former, once prescribed, brings with it the most imperioua 
obligation to conform to the prescription, yet certainly no one 
would imagine that that would be the thing selected as the 
one to be minutely fixed, while the others were to be left 
without any regulation. So that it is not the most important 
things which will be found, on examination, that modern 
Christians maintain to have been enjoined. 

Besides, we do not now make, in practice, any such dis- 
tinction between what was originally required by the Apos- 
tles, and the human additions which have since been made. 
We put the human and the divine parts of the building to- 
gether, and make one system out of the combination ; and 
this system we insist upon as a whole. The use of the liturgy 
is insisted upon as firmly, and considered as essential a con- 
dition of ministerial connection with the Episcopal church, 
as valid ordination. At least, according to the theory, no 
person can be a member of the true church of Christ, with- 
out adopting the one, as well as admitting the authority of 
the other ; and the Catholic is not less tenacious, to say the 
least, of homage to the host, than of the observance of the 
Sabbath-day. 

Though we can not but be fully satisfied of the truth of 
these views, we are aware that, like all other truths, they are 
liable to be perverted through the almost incurable propen- 
sities of many minds to run off into extremes. The con- 
siderations which we have adduced, show conclusively that 
the precise forms and modes o administering ecclesiastica] 



THE CHURCH AND CHRISTIAN UNION. 233 

The marriage ceremony. 

governments are not prescribed ; — hence, some persons will 
go by one of those leaps of ratiocination to which a crazy in- 
tellect is fully adequate, to the conclusion that all ceremony 
is unscriptural, and that all steady forms of government and 
discipline are useless trammels upon spiritual freedom. And 
perhaps some may gravely insist that they can not perceive 
the distinction between giving up the necessity of regular or- 
ganization altogether, and denying that the precise forma 
under which it is to be effected are minutely prescribed. 
And yet there is the marriage relation to furnish us with a 
striking and clear illustration of this distinction. The neces- 
sity of a ceremony so arranged as to make sure the important 
points, such as the deliberate, settled intention of the parties, 
the voluntariness of it on both sides, and public opportunity 
for the presentation of valid objections, is admitted every- 
where. The principles enjoined in the Word of God vir- 
tually require this, and the practice of all Christian states rec- 
ognize it. And yet, while this necessity is almost every- 
where recognized, acknowledged, and acted upon, and these 
points almost everywhere secured, how endlessly various are 
the modes of securing them. Now these variations are of no 
great consequence, provided that the points are secured. It 
is, for example, of not very material consequence whether the 
intention of marriage is made public by the voice of the town 
clerk, or by a posted notice on the church door, or by the 
publishing of the bans in an interval of the service, or by 
advertising in a newspaper, — provided that it is made public 
in some way or other ; and provided that some regular and 
prescribed form is adopted in every community for securing 
it. One uniform mode for all nations and ages is not pre- 
scribed in the gospel, — but each nation and age is left to 
choose its own. It by no means follows from this, however, 
that any nation or age is at liberty to abandon marriage cere- 
monies altogether. Th^re is an obligation to take some 



234 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Rite of confirmation. 

proper ceremonial measures for securing certain essential 
points, but no obligation in respect to the precise form of the 
measures themselves. 

In the same manner, the principles of the gospel require 
that the church should, in all ages, make suitable ceremonial 
arrangements for the proper examination of candidates for 
admission to the church, and for the deliberate and solemn 
induction of pastors to the sacred office, and for the regular 
and orderly support of the Christian ministry ; but while the 
obligation to see that some proper provision for these points 
is made, is imperious, there seems to be no authoritative pre- 
cedent as to the precise form which they shall assume. Thus, 
in respect to the candidate for admission to the communion 
of the church, the various branches of the church have made 
very different provisions. There is the Methodist class-leader 
in one case, the Episcopal bishop with the right of confirma 
tion in another, the Congregational examining committee, 
and the Presbyterian session ; all good and sufficient, but no 
scripture authority for any one of them. There are scripture 
principles requiring some one or other of them, or something 
equivalent, to guard the Christian church from universal cor- 
ruption, — but there is no scripture precept specifying either 
of these modes or any other as the precise mode by which 
these objects should be secured. It is, therefore, no valid 
ground of objection to the Episcopal rite of confirmation, for 
example, that the service was drawn up in the middle ages, — 
and it is thus a human contrivance of comparatively modern 
times. It is true that it was so drawn up ; it is true that 
that service is a human contrivance of comparatively modern 
times, — but it is a contrivance to accomplish a purpose 
which the principles of Christianity require us to accomplish, 
namely, the deliberate, and cautious, and solemn admission 
of members to the communion of the church, — while the in- 
spired records have left us no prescription of the mode by 



THE CHURCH AND CHRISTIAN UNION. 235 

Danger of one consolidated government. 

which we should accomplish it ; and we are consequently 
left to frame a service of confirmation, or to organize a church 
session, or appoint a committee, according to the circum- 
stances and character of our age or country, and our own 
hest discretion. 

These remarks are necessary to show, that throughout the 
whole discussion contained in this chapter nothing is intended 
to he said to undervalue the importance of proper and steady 
ceremonial regulations, in every hranch of the church. With- 
out these the objects which the general principles of organi- 
zation laid down in the gospel require, can not be secured. 
And as we have already remarked, the views exhibited in 
this chapter will not, if we fully adopt them, diminish our 
attachment to the ceremonies of our own communion, nor 
weaken our conviction of the importance of regular and steady 
arrangements for the government and worship of the church. 
They will only convince us that it is only the general prin- 
ciples which the New Testament presses ; and that as one 
branch of the church bas, in the exercise of its own discretion, 
arranged the details of its government and discipline with 
reference to the wants of its own country and times, it ought 
not to be jealous at the exercise of the same discretionary 
power on the part of another. 

VII. The union of Christians under any one consolidated 
ecclesiastical government must he highly dangerous, if not 
fatal, to the cause of true piety. 

When we conceive of one great Christian organization, 
ramifying into every country, involving itself with the politi- 
cal concerns of a hundred governments, forming one vast and 
united community, with its own rules and usages, and con- 
ditions of admission, — and extending, even in the present 
etate of Christianity, over two continents, it is easy to see 



236 



THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 



The church as it existed in the middle ages. 



what enormous abuses and evils must necessarily be involved 
in it. "What avenues for ambition — what a field for politi- 
cal intrigue would such a system present ! How impossible 
that the Author of the sermon on the mount, could have con- 
templated such a system for extending among mankind the 
meek and humble virtues of the gospel. 

But we are saved the necessity of speculating on the prob- 
able consequences of such a plan, for we have had the ex- 
periment. The church as it existed in the middle ages ex- 
hibits to us the scene ; clothed with power and splendor, — 
in herself a continental empire, — she opened the highest and 
broadest field for human ambition, and was the great cor- 
rupter and destroyer of souls. Christianity then felt the effects 
which such a system must inevitably bring. The church 
shone in courts, — she rode in splendid processions, — she pre- 
sided over the most august ceremonies in gorgeous cathedrals, 




THE CATHEDRAL. 



THE CHURCH AND CHRISTIAN UNION. 237 

Sanction of God's Spirit. 

— she was a party to every political quarrel, and often led 
her own troops on to open war. She put her victims to the 
torture, huricd true piety in dungeons, and hurnt the inno- 
cent at the stake ; while true devotedness to the real gospel 
of Christ fled from her presence and her power, and hid itself 
in dens and caves of the earth, or escaped to the fastnesses 
of the mountains. These, too, were not accidental and ex- 
traordinary effects. They were the natural results ; they 
might easily have been foreseen as the inevitable consequences 
of presenting such a field to human ambition and intrigue, 
as one ecclesiastical organization, extending over fifty or a 
hundred nations, and governed by one central power. 

VIII. God sanctions by the influences of his Holy Spirit, 
the existence and the operations of all those denominations 
of Christians, whatever may be their forms, whose faith and 
practice correspond with his Word. 

This is evident from the success which has for the last 
century attended the efforts of the several great branches 
of the church, differing widely as they do in their modes of 
organization and worship. This arrangement, one would 
think, must have some influence upon all those who believe 
that the special influences of the Holy Spirit are necessary 
to the success of any of our efforts to spread the gospel. 
By giving triumphant success in so many instances to the 
preaching of the gospel, under Episcopalian, and Baptist, and 
Methodist, and Presbyterian, and Congregational forms, does 
not the Holy Spirit sanction the organizations under which 
these several branches of the church respectively act, at 
least, so far as to show that there is nothing in either which 
excludes them from being branches of the true church of 
Christ ? If the success of efforts to save souls was a result 
which human instrumentality could itself secure, unaided 



238 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 



Present state of the church. 



and alone, we should not argue divine approbation from the 
mere fact that God would not interfere to prevent success. 
But when it is admitted that success can not "be obtained 
without the special agency and co-operation of God, one 
would think its attainment would prove that the organization 
under which it is secured, could not be regarded by the Holy 
Spirit as very radically wrong. We can not suppose that 
he would habitually appear to give his influences to systems 
of government and discipline opposed to the directions of 
Scripture, and whose prevalence could only tend to under- 
mine and destroy the true church of God. The argument 
which Peter used, to prove that Gentiles, remaining such, 
might be admitted to the church of God, was, that " God 
bears them witness, giving them the Holy Ghost, even as he 
did unto us, and put no difference between us and them, 
purifying their hearts by faith."* This argument seems to 
be as good and as applicable now, as then. "Whom the Holy 
Spirit acknowledges, we ought not to disown. 

Now are not these considerations sufficient to show at least 
that the degree of importance now commonly attached to the 
distinctive peculiarities of the various denominations of Chris- 
tians, is greater than the real state of the case will justify ? 
We believe that they do, and that the admission of this 
truth by the churches generally affords the only hope of the 
healing of our dissensions, which, perhaps, more than all 
other causes combined, hinder the progress of religion. The 
present state of things is certainly melancholy in the extreme. 
Each of the several great denominations considering its own 
peculiarities essential to the character of a true church, the 
members of one are suspicious and jealous of the others. 
They must necessarily be so, for they must regard all others 
as schismatics. They may, indeed, allow that many of the 
* Acts xv. 8, 9. 



THE CHURCH AND CHRISTIAN UNION. 239 

Cities ; villages. The real difficulty 

members of other communions, as individuals, are good men 
but, as organized into ecclesiastical bodies, they must deem 
them irregular and schismatical. Thus the members of each 
denomination excommunicate the others, and must do so as 
long as they maintain that their own peculiarities, though 
not necessary to personal salvation, are essential to the char- 
acter of a true church. There is, accordingly, between these 
denominations, at the central points, in great cities, suspicion, 
jealousy, mistrust, manosuvering and counter-manoeuvering. 
And the evil influence spreads out to the remotest extremi- 
ties, among the remote and thinly peopled districts of the 
country. The evil is, in fact, aggravated here, for all the 
Christian strength which can be gathered from the thin and 
scattered population, is only sufficient to sustain and carry 
forward the cause of Christ, if united and at peace. But 
divided, and mutually jealous and hostile, its moral power is 
destroyed, and the community around slumbers hopelessly in 
its sins. 

And observe, that it is not the fact of division alone, which 
makes the case so desperate. It is the circumstance, that 
each branch in so many instances considers the others irregu- 
lar and spurious, so as to make it a matter of conscience to 
oppose them. It is the fact that each one is so sure that its 
own peculiarities are essential to such an organization as will 
be pleasing to the Savior, that it must utterly condemn all 
others. This makes each one hopelessly rigid and tenacious 
of its position. It gives to party spirit a perverted conscience 
for an ally, in the work of keeping up the walls which sepa- 
rate one branch from another. And of all alliances, that of 
party spirit with a perverted conscience is the most obstinate 
and indissoluble. Even the outpouring of the Spirit upon a 
Christian community thus situated, does not remove the evil. 
For if men honestly believe that the communior of Christians 
to which they do not belong, is not organized on principles 



240 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Permanence of it. The disease an intermittent. 

acceptable to Christ, they must oppose it, — secretly or openly, 
they must, if they are faithful, oppose it. And the more 
iheir hearts are stimulated to interest and fidelity in the Sa- 
vior's cause, the more decided will be their hostility. They 
may suppress or conceal it, but it will still reign. It will 
keep its hold in every denomination, notwithstanding all pre- 
tensions to brotherly love, so long as the false idea is retained, 
that Jesus Christ meant to prescribe all the peculiarities 
which they respectively insist upon. While this idea re- 
mains there can not even be a plea for union offered, by any 
one who entertains it, which will amount to any thing more, 
in fact, than a call upon the members of other denominations 
to come and join his own. 

Such is the condition of the Christian church ; while, in 
the mean time, the world lies almost undisturbed in its sins. 
Nature, however, in this, as in other diseases, prompts to 
some struggles for relief. These spontaneous efforts are of 
two kinds. First come contentions by argument, — each 
party attempting to prove that its own forms are according 
to the true apostolic model. An argument from one quar- 
ter arouses resistance and a counter-argument from another ; 
and all being equally in the wrong, in claiming exclusive 
validity for their own modes, the result of the contest depends 
upon the ability of the leaders, or upon the circumstances 
and the prejudices of the minds which they act upon. Things 
remain, however, in general, very much the same after the 
battle as before ; no extensive changes of opinion result 
though each one clings, in consequence of the contest, more 
strongly to his own. At length, wearied out with the un- 
profitable warfare, the parties sink into a state of temporary 
repose. 

This fruitless struggle being over, it is succeeded, perhaps, 
after a short pause, by one of a different kind. A fit of love 
and co-operation comes on. Union in measures and plans is 



THE CHURCH AND CHRISTIAN UNION. 241 

Hot flt and cold fit. The old texts. 

proposed, — the parties each still thinking its own church is 
the only true one. They agree however to lay aside the dis- 
cussion of the theory, and see if they can not act together ; 
and they form a benevolent society, or arrange a union prayer- 
meeting, or a public lecture in common. But while each 
portion of the church considers its peculiarities essential, and 
all other organizations schismatic, what kind of a union can 
this be ? It is inevitable that each party will be watchful 
and jealous. If they mean to take a high-minded and honor- 
able course, they will be anxious and watchful lest they 
should themselves do something to offend their allies ; and 
if, on the other hand, they are narrow-minded, and envious, 
they will be on the watch lest the others should do some- 
thing unjust toward them. The very nature of the case 
shows, what all experience confirms, that such alliances 
between the denominations, while each one considers itself 
the only true church, will always be of the nature, not of a 
peace among friends, — but of a temporary aud jealous truce 
between foes. 

Accordingly, after this plan has been tried a little while, 
the lurking alienation creeps in again. The public lecture 
ends in a general heart-burning among the branches of the 
church, instead of conviction among the impenitent ; — the 
great benevolent society resolves itself into its sectarian ele- 
ments ; and the union prayer-meeting, perhaps, breaks up in 
an open explosion. 

Then, perhaps, comes on another controversy, in which 
the same old arguments, the same old texts, the same old 
quoting of precedents, and straining of words, and emphasiz- 
ing of particles, are brought forward against one another for 
the thousandth time, to prove what never can be proved. 
Thus the disease alternates. It is an intermittent. There 
is the cold stage and the hot stage ; — the chilly fit of con- 
troversy, and the fever fit of forced and pretended love. In 
L 



242 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

The only remedy for the evil. 

the mean time, the church moans in increased weakness and 
suffering, and sin and Satan rejoice that an enemy which they 
could not have conquered in battle, is conquered for them by 
a pestilential and destructive disease. 

What remedy now can there possibly be for these evils 
but for Christians to cease to attach so much importance to 
the differences of form which separate them ? Is it not 
plain that it is this over-rated importance which each 
denomination attaches to its own form of organization, or 
to its own modes of performing the ceremonies of Christian- 
ity, that constitutes the repellancy between the branches ? 
Is it not plain, too, that it is this refusal to acknowledge one 
another, and not simply the division, which makes the trou- 
ble ? For if this spirit of hostility and exclusion were 
removed, the obstacle to coalescence would be removed ; and 
though the present great denominations might remain, they 
would live together as sister branches, and individual Chris- 
tians would consider it of comparatively little importance to 
which they might belong. The man whose mind is so con- 
stituted that his devotion is aided by forms of prayer, would 
not be jealous of his neighbor because he preferred an 
extemporaneous petition ; and a devoted servant of Jesus 
Christ, going to reside among an ignorant and vicious popu- 
lation, might perhaps hesitate whether a Methodist or a 
Congregational mode of government would afford him great- 
est facilities for the successful prosecution of his Master's 
work. Thus each grand division of the church would wish 
well to the others, considering them all as branches of the 
true church of Christ. This they never can do now, for not- 
withstanding all attempts at union, and all pretended love, 
it is plain that one branch can never really wish well to 
another, while they consider it only an irregular association 
of good men ; pious, but deceived ; and hanging like an ex- 
crescence and a burden about the true church of Christ. 



THE CHURCH AND CHRISTIAN UNION. 243 

Prospect of a change. Summing up the case. 

Thus the giving up the essential importance of any par- 
ticular modes of church government and worship, would pro- 
duce a right state of feeling among the great denominations 
of Christians. The members of each would undoubtedly 
feel a special interest, as they ought to do, in the prosperity 
of their own branch of the church, but the bitterness of dis- 
sension would all disappear. The simple admission of the 
other denominations to the rank of sister branches of the true 
church, would change the whole aspect of their relations to 
one another. Where the population was large and dense, 
the tastes and habits of different classes might be accommo- 
dated by arrangements suited to all ; and where it was scat- 
tered and thin, the question among Christians would simply 
be, which of the several equally regular branches of the church 
of Christ shall we build up here ; and it seems as if it would 
be impossible to keep true Christians from coming together, 
on such a question. 

I am, however, far from being so sanguine, as to suppose 
that any very sudden change is to take place in the church, 
in respect to her internal dissensions. All that we can now 
hope to do, is, to find the direction in which the path to 
future peace and happiness lies. This has been the object 
of this chapter. 

To sum up the case, then, in conclusion, if we wish to do 
all we can toward giving the Christian church that efficiency 
and moral power, which she is designed to exercise, we must 
heal her divisions ; and the first step toward this, is to banish 
from our own bosoms those suspicions and jealousies which 
so often separate the several branches of the great family. 
It is idle to hope that either of these branches will ever 
conquer and swallow up the rest. A struggle for this end 
only thickens the walls, and strengthens the defenses, and 
animates the hostility which separates the contending parties 



244 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Spiritual integrity of the church. 

It is time for the church to take a different ground, to take 
those views of the place and province of modes and forms, 
which is, most evidently, when we come to consider the sub- 
ject, everywhere taken of them by the Holy Scriptures. 
We may cling to our own institutions as strongly as we 
please, and zealously endeavor to promote their prosperity. 
But when we reflect how much there is that is confessedly 
human in the structure, let us cease attempting to compel 
all others to give up their attachments for the sake of 
embracing ours. 

We should show a great ignorance of human nature 
and of the state of opinion in the various branches of the 
church, if we did not expect that the views advanced in 
this chapter would meet with opposition. The best of men, 
the most devoted of Christians, who have long been accus- 
tomed to look forward to a consolidation of the church, and 
whose imaginations have painted in very glowing colors the 
magnificence and beauty, but have concealed the fatal dan- 
gers of such a result, will shrink from the doctrines which 
we have attempted to maintain. Others will have lived too 
many years under the feeling of an exclusive attachment to 
their own forms, to think for a moment of admitting others to 
a theoretical equality, and they will consider the prevalence 
of these views as fatal to the integrity of the Church. But 
the true church of Christ is a spiritual edifice, — its integrity 
is a spiritual integrity ; and that integrity, these views, if 
admitted, will establish, not destroy. They will make the 
church one, as Christ ivas one with his, disciples, that is, in 
heart, and feeling, and desires, — and not merely in the frail 
bonds of official connection. We are convinced that the 
prevalence of these views affords the only hope of the pacifi- 
cation of the Christian Church ; and it is this conviction of 
their vital importance as a means of enabling the Church 
to accomplish the full work of doing good, which God has 



THE CHURCH AND CHRISTIAN UNION. 245 



assigned her, that has compelled us to introduce the discussion 
here . 

We helieve too, that the Church is already beginning 
extensively to receive these views, and the effect which we 
expect from this chapter, upon a vast majority of its readers, 
is, not to teach any thing new, hut to reduce to form, and to 
establish, views which they have long been insensibly im- 
bibing. Let us extend them, and the pacification of the 
Church is accomplished forever. They can be extended 
without disturbing the plans or the progress of any branch 
of the church of Christ. They will go from heart to heart, 
from closet to closet, and from prayer-meeting to prayer- 
meeting, and it will not be long before their fruits will be 
seen in the establishment of a friendly intercourse between 
all the branches of the great family of the Savior. — Then 
shall Episcopacy, venerable with age, and strong in the 
moral power of the hallowed associations which cluster 
around her ; — and Congregationalism, active and vigorous 
in its simplicity, finding its ready way to the new and ever- 
changing scenes of human life ; — and Methodism, warm 
with emotion, penetrating into the mightiest masses of 
society, and changing the excitements of sin into the warm, 
happy emotions of piety ; — and Presbyterianism, with its 
steady and efficient government, its faithful standards, and 
its devoted ministry ; — these and all other branches of the 
great army of God, shall all move forward, side by side, 
against the one great enemy of their common Master. The 
world will no longer point to our contentions, and quiet 
themselves in sin, but they wall see, though our forms and 
usages may differ, that still, in heart and purpose, we are 

ONE. 



216 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Plan of this work. 



CHAPTER VIII. 

THE SICK. 

"Sick, and ye visited me." 

An inspection of our table of contents would not lead the 
reader to suppose that any very logical plan was pursued in 
the arrangement of the topics discussed in this work. The 
work is, in fact, to be considered as a connected train of 
thought, rather than a systematic arrangement of several in- 
dependent subjects of discussion. Accordingly, after two or 
three preliminary chapters, we took up the first and most ob- 
vious source of suffering which obtrudes itself upon our no- 
tice, in this valley of tears. This subject was poverty ; and, 
as in the consideration of it, we saw that poverty admitted 
of no effectual remedy but the removal of its moral causes, 
we were led at once to the discussion of the great moral 
remedy for all moral evils, — the gospel of Jesus Christ ; and 
the modes by which this remedy is to be most effectually ap- 
plied. Having in the three last chapters considered this 
subject in its three most important aspects, we now return to 
the other great branch of physical evil. 

Sickness ; the twin sister and companion of want, and the 
sharer with her of the empire of human suffering. Like 
poverty, she is the daughter of sin, but is farther, sepa- 
rated from her mother. Sin moves on, and sickness lingers 
often behind ; so that you may deal with sickness separately, 



THE SICK. 247 

Sickness and want. Safe to do good to the sick. 

"Want, on the other hand, clings closely to her parent ; they 
make common cause, and stand or fall together. 

But to drop the metaphor, — although, as the Bible teaches 
us, all sickness and pain are to he considered as the conse- 
quence of sin, yet they sometimes come from it so indirectly, 
and are separated from it so far, by lapse of time, and are 
sometimes in so slight a degree connected with personal trans- 
gression, that we may apply our remedy directly to it, with 
comparatively little danger. In fact, there are several con- 
siderations making our duty toward the sick a very important 
part of the field of benevolent action. 

1. We can very easily afford a great deal of relief and 
even of happiness to the sick ; and that safely. To bestow 
relief even if it is only temporary relief is an object worth 
securing, provided that it can be secured without danger. 
When we relieve the distresses of poverty by our friendly in- 
terposition, we are always solicitous lest we may, in the end, 
make more unhappiness than we remove. The distress may 
be feigned, or it may be in some way connected with deception, 
and our aid, in such a case, will only encourage and embolden 
fraud. Or a man may have neglected to make provision for 
coming wants, when he might have provided for them, and 
then, when he begins to feel their pressure, we may cut off 
the influence of a salutary lesson for the future, by the relief 
which we can not find it in our hearts to deny. It sometimes 
seems almost cruel to admit such suspicions, but it is only the 
extreme of inexperience or of folly that can be blind to them. 

In cases of sickness, however, they do not apply. All the 
good that we can do in the chamber of actual disease or suf- 
fering, is, with exceptions very few and rare, a work at least 
of safety. 

And then, besides the safety of it, doing good in a sick 
room, is a very effectual way of doing good. We work there 
to great advantage. A very little effort gives a great deal 



248 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

The sick laborer. Good easily and safely done. 

of relief, or a great deal of pleasure. Perhaps it is owing t« 
the feelings of helplessness and dependence, which sickness 
brings, or perhaps to the effect of disease in awakening the 
susceptibilities of the mind, and rendering the sufferer more 
sensitive to kindness, as we know he is to sounds, and light, 
and pain. The sternest man will be softened, if you ap- 
proach him with relief, or even with sympathy, when he is 
in sickness or pain. 

Thus, if there are within the reach of our walks, a num- 
ber of cases of sickness among the poor, and unfortunate, and 
neglected, there is no way in which you can spend a few 
hours in each week in doing more immediate and effectual 
good, than in seeking out the cases, and carrying to them 
your relief, or at least your sympathy. There is, for ex- 
ample, in one lowly home, a poor man laid upon his hard, 
uncomfortable bed, by an accidental injury received in his 
work, — and the want, it required, while he was in health 
his unremitting and constant exertion to keep at bay, begins 
to take advantage of his helplessness, and to press its iron 
grasp upon the mother and children. Now you may visit 
him, — your words of sympathy and encouragement may save 
them all from despair. Your aid may find a little employ- 
ment for the wife, or for a child, or a little medical advice 
for the patient, so as to hasten his release ; and thus with a 
strict economy of your means of doing good, you may, by a 
small expenditure of time, and money, and care, give at 
once great immediate relief, and save a whole family from 
much future sufferiug. And while you are doing it, the 
light of Christian example and character which you will 
cause to shine into that dark home, may allure some of its 
inmates, in the end, to the banner under which you are 
serving. 

Then, again, here is another case. An incurable disease 
of a limb is wasting away a little patient, and carrying him 



249 



Old ago. 



slowly and surely to the grave. Without pain, and with 
very little general disease, he is confined hy the apparatus of 
the surgeon in one position, which there is only the faintest 
possible hope that he will ever leave, till he is released from 
it to he laid in the last position of mortality. Till then, how- 
ever, his arms and eyes are at liberty, and his soul is free ; 
and contented, cheerful, and happy, he welcomes you day after 
day with a smile, as you come to admire the little windmills, 
and boxes that he makes with his penknife and glue, — or to 
give him new drawings to copy, — or a new book to read, — 
or to sit at his bedside, with your hand upon his brow, wish- 
ing that all the suffering and the wretched could be as happy 
as he. 




THE CRIPPLE. 



Again, there is age, decrepit old age, — sitting helplessly 
by the fireside, in his ancient chair. His generation has gone 
off and left him, and he is alone. He feels like a stranger 



25U THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 



Consumption and her victims. 



among' the beings that have sprung up all around him, as it 
were in a day, and his thoughts and his memory run hack 
spontaneously to times, and men, and events that now are 
gone ; and which, though they are every thing to him, are 
nothing now to any body beside. It is painful to him to find 
that the knowledge and recollection to which alone his mind 
runs back with interest and pleasure, are insignificant and 
worthless to all around him. Now you may look in upon 
him a few minutes, as he sits in his armed chair in a winter 
evening, or stop to talk with him a moment under the trees, 
before his door, at sunset, in June ; and by your tone of kind 
ness and interest, and the air of respectful consideration al- 
ways due to age, you revive the heart of the aged pilgrim to 
sensations of happiness, which beam over his soul brightly, 
while you are with him, and linger there long after you are 
gone. The enjoyment is but little, I admit, — but then the 
expense is very little, by which it is secured. 

Then besides all these sources of sickness and suffering, 
there is often near us, and sometimes at our very firesides, a 
visitor whom we scarcely know whether to call an enemy or a 
friend. New England, if not her native land, is at least her 
loved and chosen home. She thrives in the refreshing cool- 
ness of our northern clime. The air of the sea-breeze, of the 
cool autumnal evening, and of the wintry storm, constitute 
her very vital breath. Her form is slender and delicate, — a 
little too delicate and feeble for gracefulness ; and her cheek, 
though it blooms, does not bloom exactly with beauty ; but 
then her eye is bright, and her forehead is of marble. Her 
name is Consumption. 

She loves New England, and lingers unobserved among us 
in a thousand scenes. She is always busy here, selecting her 
victims among the sensitive and the fair, and commencing 
secretly that mysterious process of entanglement, by which 
they are to become at last her hopeless prey. She loves the 



THE SICK. 251 

The family and friends of the sick. 

slow moonlight walk, the winter sleigh-ride, and the return 
in the chilly coach at midnight from the crowded city assem- 
bly. She helps make up the party in the summer evening 
sail, uninvited, unwelcome, and unobserved, — but still there, 
taking her choice from all the lovely forms before her. She 
knows too well how to choose. She can appreciate intelli- 
gence, beauty, sensibility, and even moral worth, and in the 
collected assembly of her victims, you would find some of the 
brightest and loveliest specimens of humanity. 

Now, perhaps, you may find some one of these victims in 
the circle of your walks, and you may easily do a great deal 
to relieve weariness, and restlessness, and pain, during the 
long months of decline, and to soothe the sufferings of the 
last hours. 

The good which the Christian visitor may do in the sick 
chamber is not confined to the suffering patient. The family 
and friends are comforted, and sustained, and strengthened, 
by the influence of your presence. No one who has not ex- 
perienced it can tell how valuable is the spontaneous and 
heartfelt sympathy of a friend, to a family suffering, in one 
of its members, the invasion of alarming or fatal disease 
The heart of the wife sinking within her in anxiety and ter- 
ror at her husband's sufferings or delirium, is refreshed and 
strengthened as by a cordial, when a kind neighbor comes in 
to share her watch and her anxious care. And so the hearts 
of parents, distressed and filled with anguish at witnessing 
the last struggles of an infant child, are cheered, and sus- 
tained, and comforted, by the presence and the silent sym- 
pathy of the friend, who watches with them till midnight 
brings the last breath and the last pulsation, and gives the 
little sufferer repose. There is in fact no end to the variety 
of modes by which kindness to the sick is effectual in reliev- 
ing pain and promoting happiness. Sickness seems to soften 
the heart and awaken all its susceptibilities of gratitude and 



252 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Cases. Influence to be gained. A family changed, 

happiness. Kindness and sympathy are never so longed for 
and so welcome as here ; and never touch the heart more 
effectually, or awaken stronger feelings of gratitude and affec- 
tion. It may he all merely temporary pleasure which is thus 
communicated ; but it is real and great, if it is temporary, 
and it can he all accomplished with little effort and little 
danger. 

2. By kind attention to the sick, we may gain an influence 
in favor of piety over the sick themselves, and over the fam- 
ilies to which they belong. Piety is, in respect to mankind, 
love ; and in no way, perhaps, can its true character be more 
fairly shown than in the sick-room. The colors, too, in which 
it appears there, are all alluring. In ordinary intercourse 
with mankind the pressure of business, or the forms and usages 
of social life, repress, in a great degree, those moral manifes- 
tations which shine out spontaneously in the sick-room, and 
exhibit clearly there the character of that submission to God 
and that kind interest in man, winch the Savior commands! 
us to let shine as a light in this dark world of sin. 

Thus, in many, many instances, a cold, heartless, unbeliev- 
ing, and perhaps vicious father, has been led to see the real 
ity of religion ' by his intercourse with the Christian friend 
who has come to visit his sick child. In fact, sickness seems 
often sent, as it were, to open a door of admission to an un- 
godly family, by which the gospel may enter in. The family 
are first grateful for the kindness, — then they see the moral 
beauty of the character which exhibits it. The religious con- 
versation which is offered in a kind, conciliating, and unas- 
suming tone, in the sick chamber, or around the fireside in 
an adjoining room, is listened to with a respectful attention, 
though, perhaps, under no other circumstances could it have 
found an access to those ears. These first steps may not be very 
important ones, but it is something to bring the soul which is 
utterly hostile to God, to a parley. The reading of propei 



THE SICK. 25.'i 

A danger pointed oat. 



religious books, — an occasional, and at length a regular at- 
tendance at the house of God, are perhaps the succeeding 
steps ; and when a family is brought thus far, by the gentle 
and unassuming moral influence which may without great 
difficulty be exerted over them, it is safe to expect that the 
change will go farther. It is into such a family that the 
Holy Spirit loves to enter and complete the work which, 
without his aid, could not even have been begun. Reader, — 
is there not within your reach a family of unhappy wanderers 
from God, into which sickness has gone and opened a door of 
easy and pleasant access to you ? Inquire and ascertain ; 
and if there is, find your way there without delay, and by 
kind, unceasing, and delicate attentions, fasten a silken cord 
of gratitude and affection to their hearts, by which you may 
draw the inmates to the Savior and to happiness. 

Or if the family, to which you show Christian kindness in 
sickness, is cultivated and refined, though worldly, the light 
of Christian character is brought to their minds more dis- 
tinctly than before, and it comes in a more alluring form. 
They are your neighbors or acquaintances, but as you have 
been mutually conscious of the great difference between you 
and them, in respect to your religious sentiments and hopes, 
each party has imagined feelings of coldness and reserve to 
exist in the other ; nothing is more common than this state 
of feeling between religious and irreligious acquaintances or 
friends. Now the sickness which gives you the opportunity 
of showing kindness, breaks down the barrier, and changes 
the look and tone of cold reserve, which each party imagined 
that he was adopting in self-defer.se, to the open, and cor- 
dial, and honest expressions of good-Mall. 

It is, however, somewhat dangerous to point out these in- 
direct results which come from kindness to the sick, lest they 
should lead our deceiving and deceitful hearts to an affecta- 
tion of benevolence, or of solemnity, for the purpose of secur 



254 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Spir. tual good of the patient. 

ing them. But there is no disguise so slim, at least there is 
none more easily seen through by the intelligent observer, 
than affectation of piety ; — the solemn look, assumed to suit 
the supposed proprieties of an occasion, — the affected tone, a 
clumsy counterfeit of the inflections of real feeling, — the 
forced conversation, constrained, unnatural, indirect, — and 
the prayer, in which the speaker pretends to be addressing 
the Supreme, when you perceive at once, from the rhetorical 
structure of his sentences, and the clumsy insinuations and 
allusions, that the bystanders only are in his mind. If this 
is the kind of Christian light which these paragraphs tend to 
kindle in the sick-rooms which the readers may visit, they 
had better never have been written. No, let us be honest, 
open, direct in all we say or do. If we feel no emotion, let 
us never feign any ; never. Let us see that our hearts are 
right toward God and man, and then let our words and looks 
freely follow the impulses which they receive from within, 
It is only honest, frank, open-hearted, unaffected piety which 
can gain any great or permanent ascendency in such a world 
as ours. 

3. By kindness to the sick we have also some hope of pro- 
moting the spiritual good of the patient, — though we confess 
that this hope must be faint and feeble. The good that is 
done is mainly that specified under the preceding heads ; 
cither the present relief and comfort, amounting sometimes 
to positive enjoyment, which results directly from the effort, 
or the influence in favor of the cause of piety, resulting from 
the exhibition of its true character in its own appropriate 
sphere. These are often overlooked, and the chief hopes of 
the Christian visitor are directed to the spiritual benefit of 
the patient himself, which we have melancholy evidence is 
very seldom in any great degree attained. This evidence, 
however, though it is melancholy, we ought to see. It is 
best for us to understand what hopes there are of preparation 



the sick. 255 

Natural effect of sicki ess. Dangers. 

for death on a sick-bed, both for our own guidance in respect 
to others, and also that we may know what to calculate 
upon, ourselves, in respect to our own last hours. 

" But why," the reader will ask, who is accustomed to 
think that sickness brings with it peculiar opportunities for 
repentance, " why is it that we may not hope to promote the 
spiritual good of the sick ? They aie then withdrawn from 
the world. The power of its temptations is destroyed, — 
eternity, if not actually near, is at least seen more distinctly, 
and more fully realized. There are many long hours favor- 
able to reflection, and every thing seems to invite to repent- 
ance for sin and reconciliation with God." 

This is all true, and if nothing but an invitation to the 
favor of God, and urgent, alarming necessity for reconciliation 
with him were wanting, every sick man conscious of sick- 
ness, would be sure to be saved. But unhappily it is not all. 
There is a heart to be changed. A heart which shrinks 
from God, dislikes communion with him, and loves sin, is to 
be so entirely altered in its very fundamental desires as to 
seek God eagerly and spontaneously, as its refuge, its home, 
its happiness, — to delight in his presence and communion, 
and to hate and shrink from sin. Now the natural effect 
of sickness is simply to awaken uneasiness or anxiety, and 
we can see no special tendency in uneasiness or anxiety to 
produce such a change in the very desires and affections of 
the soul as this. 

But let us look at the facts a little more in detail. There 
are several distinct conditions in which the dangerously sick 
may be found, and most of them are such as to preclude the 
possibility of deriving any spiritual benefit from the supposed 
facilities afforded by their situation. We will consider some 
of these. 

(1.) A large class never know their danger, or at least 
have no time to think of it until they are too far gone to be 



256 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Various classes. Deceptions of friends. 

sensible of it. Thus for all purposes of reflection they know 
nothing of their sickness till they are convalescent, or until 
they awake in eternity. For example a man in the midst 
of his business is suddenly attacked by severe acute disease. 
The shooting pains, the chills, the fever alarm him, and 
anticipating a fit of sickness, he is busy to the last moment 
of his ability to act, in making arrangements and giving di- 
rections ; and when he can do no more there follows the 
bustle of preparation in his room, — the visit of the physician, 
the bath, or the friction, or the venesection. An hour or 
two spent thus is succeeded by a disturbed slumber, from 
which he awakes in delirium. Perhaps a fortnight after- 
ward God raises for a single hour the mysterious pressure 
under which the soul had been imprisoned, and the unhappy 
man has barely time to see the grave open at his feet, before 
clouds and darkness shut in again over his soul, and he sinks 
forever. 

Precisely this would be, indeed, a case of uncommonly 
sudden and severe disease, but many such occur, and very 
many occur which are precisely like it in the essential point, 
that is, that the patient never knows his danger, nor reflects 
seriously upon his sickness, till it is too late for him to under- 
stand it at all. These cases are rendered more numerous 
by the almost universal tendency, on the part of family and 
friends, to present to the patient the brightest side of his case. 
This arises not always from a deliberate intention to deceive, 
— in fact, the parent, or the friend, standing by the bedside, 
cherishes himself the hope which he wishes to present to the 
patient ; and he unconsciously overrates the grounds of it, in 
his desire to give the sick one the advantage of its exhilara- 
ting and sustaining power. At other times, the truth, too 
plain to the physician and the friends, is suppressed, and 
concealed from the deceived sufferer ; and the grave grasps 
him while the words are actually on the lips of his attend- 



THE SICK. 25/ 

Indifference and stupor. 



ants that assure him that he shall soon be well. Oh, how 
often have parents thus deceived their dying children. How 
can they do it ? How can they bear to allow one who looks 
up to them with entire confidence and affection, to go from 
them suddenly into eternity, and have there to reflect that 
the last words which he heard his father and his mother 
speak to him were words of falsehood and deception ? 

Still, nothing is more common than this, and from these 
and other similar cases it comes that a very large number 
of human beings finish their pilgrimage without a warning. 
Of course, the sick-bed affords no facilities for a preparation 
for death, to them. 

(2.) Then there is another large class whose disease or 
state of mind is such that they can not safely be addressed 
on the subject. That is, the probability that any good will 
be done, by religious conversation with them, is smaller, than 
that if left to mental quiet, they may recover, and be brought 
to repentance by future opportunities for enjoying the means 
of grace. There are many cases where the most faithful 
Christian physician would require perfect quiet and repose ; 
and we are not obstinately to insist on pressing the guilt and 
danger of the sinner upon his attention, where the probable 
result would be only to aggravate disease, and hasten death, 
and thus secure, at once, the ruin from which we were en- 
deavoring to save him. The cases, however, where a kind 
and judicious religious influence over one in a state of dan- 
gerous disease, would really be unsafe, are not very common : 
but those where the patient or the friends think it would be 
unsafe, so as to feel obliged to preclude it, are numberless. 
They form a second large class of patients who can not be 
expected to be much benefited by the opportunities which 
sickness affords them. 

(3.) Then there are a great number who sink, in sickness, 
into a state of indifference and stupor from which nothing 



258 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 



Agitation, anxiety, and unhappiness. 



can arouse them. Whether this is one of the innumerable 
forms of the infatuation of sin, or some peculiar mental 
torpidity resulting from the disease, the effect is certain, and 
the instances innumerable. Sometimes the patient shrinks 
from, and shuns, the conversation that would awaken him, — 
and sometimes he welcomes it, and listens to it, as if he 
wished that it might produce its proper effect, — and then he 
complains, with stupid despair, that he can see his guilt and 
danger, hut can not feel them. 

Hardness of heart does not arise from such causes as that 
approaching death will certainly remove it. It is a moral 
insensibility which has its existence within itself, and is 
slightly affected by mere external causes. If the habits of 
life have formed and fixed it, it will sometimes maintain its 
hold, even to the last hour. 

(4.) Then, besides, of those who are led to feel some alarm 
a very large proportion never go farther than alarm. They 
are agitated, and anxious, and unhappy ; but agitation is not 
piety, — and anxiety about death, is not preparation for it. 
In fact, the feeling of restless suffering is, probably, in many 
cases, only a manifestation of actual hostility to God. The 
soul finds itself brought up, as it were, to meet its Maker. 
It sees that it is approaching the close of its connection with 
the world, and that the course of time is drawing it directly 
on toward God. It looks this way and that way for escape, 
but finds none ; and its restless, anxious uneasiness is only a 
shrinking, with instinctive dislike, from the great Being to 
whom it ought to fly eagerly as to its refuge and home. 
If this is its condition then, the more restless are its alarms, 
the greater is its hostility ; and it goes at last into the pres- 
ence of its Maker, like the terrified child into the arms of a 
stranger whom it dislikes and dreads. 

These four classes constitute, undoubtedly, a very large por- 



259 

Nervous influences of sickness. 



tion of the sick, — but we must thin the number that is left, 
a little more ; for 

(5.) There are the deceived. One would think, that on a 
sick and dying bed the heart would abandon its subterfuges 
and deception, and be honest with itself at last, before it 
goes into eternity. Instead of this, however, self-deception 
maintains its hold here, as in its last intrenchment. 

In fact, a little reflection would convince us at once, that 
the circumstances of a sick-bed are such as to create very 
great danger of self-deception. That loss of interest in the 
world, which is the result of confinement, weakness, and pain, 
— how easily may it be mistaken for a heartfelt and volun- 
tary renunciation of it. Death, too, may seem near, — bring- 
ing with it all its terrors, and under its threatening aspect 
the spirit sinks. Now how easy it is for the soul to welcome 
the idea of reconciliation with God, simply as a relief from 
anxiety and suffering, and then to imagine that to be the 
chosen object of its love, to which in fact it only flies as a 
refuge from fear. Then again, sickness, though it sometimes 
inflames and irritates the spirit, perhaps often softens and 
soothes it, by some mysterious physical influence exerted by 
it upon the nervous system. The selfish, turbulent, and un- 
governable child often lies subdued and quieted under its 
hand, and gladdens his mother's heart by his unlooked for 
manifestations of submission and gratitude ; — the nurse wel- 
comes returning irritability as a sign of returning health. 
This morbid loveliness of spirit, like the unnatural brightness 
of the eye, or hectic bloom upon the cheek, is often the com- 
panion of disease, and not unfrequently the immediate pre- 
cursor of death. It calms all the \ assions of the soul, it lulls 
the sensorium into rest, and disarms temptation of its power, 
by taking away the very fuel it feeds upon. It gives the 
kindest and gentlest intonations to the voice, and spreads over 
the countenance an expression of benevolence and submission. 



260 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

The attendant of piety ; its counterfeit. 

It often mingles with, piety, and clothes it, in its last hours! 
with a most fascinating loveliness ; — but alas, it also often 
takes its place, — its most successful and yet most superficial 
counterfeit. It deceives death, — meeting him with a smile ; 
but convalescence is its certain detection and exposure. For 
when health is returning, its colors soon fade, and its moral 
loveliness turns to irritability, fretfulness, and selfish, sus- 
picious jealousy. How far the movements of a soul, thus so 
directly modified, either favorably or unfavorably, by the 
nervous influences of disease, are to be considered as affected, 
in respect to moral character and accountability, is a ques- 
tion too deep for us to enter into here. One thing, however, 
is certain, that if we make allowances on this account, as by 
common consent we do, for what is wrong, we must also 
make some deductions of credit for what is right. 

But we ought to repeat that the state of mind and heart 
which we have been describing, though sometimes the coun- 
terfeit of piety, is often its attendant, so that the graces of 
character which are exhibited in the sick-chamber, where 
there is evidence of a stable foundation on which they rest, 
are not to be considered as unsubstantial and transitory. 
Every visitor among the sick will call to mind cases where 
the solid characteristics of real piety shone with a heavenly 
beauty and splendor, imparted to them apparently by these 
mysterious influences of lingering disease. While saying 
this, there rises to my mind the recollection of one sick-room 
which exhibited, before all others that I have seen, the most 
striking example of it. It was that of the child Nathan 
Dickerman,* whose chamber during the last months of his 
life, beamed with an expression of loveliness and peace, which 
no pen can describe. 

Those grim tyrants, disease and death, seemed in his case, 
to relax from their sternness and cruelty, that they might 
* Memoir of Nathan W. Dickerman. 



THE SICK. 261 

Little Nathan Dickerman. 

vary their woik of oppression, as other tyrants have done, by 
showing for once what they could do in lavishing kindness 
and decorations upon a favorite. It is true that they insisted 
that he should be their prey, and so they maintained with 
inflexible determination their own destructive hold upon the 
organs of life ; though he was their favorite, he must wear 
their chain. For the rest, all was kindness. They bright- 
ened his intellect, they expanded, almost beyond maturity, 
his embryo powers, they smoothed the features of his counte- 
nance into an almost heavenly expression, and breathed into 
his soul an atmosphere of indescribable sweetness, and peace, 
and enjoyment. These stern and uncompromising, and usu- 
ally pitiless masters, appeared disposed, in his case, to lay aside 
their terrors. For once they seemed to love their victim ; — 
they smiled upon him where he lay. 

The enchanting expression, however, which beamed from 
the whole scene which his little room exhibited, was indebted 
for its chief lineaments to a most sincere and unaffected piety. 
There was abundant evidence of this, — evidence too of the 
most undoubted character. But piety, in such a case as this 
substantial and sure, is softened and beautified by the influ- 
ence of disease. It is the corporeal and the animal only 
which fails ; all that is pure, and lovely, and beautiful in the 
spirit, in the intellect, in the soul, rises the more free and 
the more resplendent for being released from its ordinary 
burdens. 

But to return ; this mysterious effect produced by disease, 
in subduing and softening all the asperities of the character, 
which sometimes accompanies piety, perhaps oftener merely 
assumes the guise of it. This therefore forms one of the im- 
mense variety of modes by which the soul deceives, and is it- 
self deceived. 

When, now, we come to consider all these numerous cases 
in which no spiritual benefit is derived from the opportunities 



262 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 



Imposture. 



afforded by a sick-bed, — those who are cut off too suddenly 
to know their situation, those who are rendered, inaccessible 
by the nature and violence of their disease, those who are 
indifferent and stupid, those who are only alarmed, and those 
who are deceived, — we shall have but few remaining who 
can be considered as making any effectual preparation for 
death, when sickness comes with its warnings. The good, 
therefore, which we are to expect to effect by our visits to 
the sick and the suffering, is chiefly in other ways than in 
the preparation of the individual sufferer for his approach- 
ing account. There is, however, some hope, even of this. 
It is one of the objects at which we have to aim. 

Having thus brought to the view of the reader the nature 
of the good which he must expect to do, we proceed in the 
remainder of this chapter, to enumerate some of the more 
plain and important directions necessary to enable him most 
successfuly to effect it. 

1 . In your arrangements for visiting and relieving cases of 
sickness among the poor, be always on your guard against im- 
posture. Go forward freely and openly to the relief of suffer- 
ing, wherever you find it, but be constantly awake to the 
probability that you may in any case be deceived. Nothing 
surpasses the readiness with which the vicious poor resort to a 
feigning of sickness and suffering in order to procure undeserved 
charity, unless it be the adroitness with which they carry their 
wicked schemes into effect. Sometimes the disease is entirely 
a fabrication, and sometimes a little reality is made the basis 
of long-continued indications of suffering. In fact, we often, 
by our own indiscreet and profuse benefactions to a sick 
family, actually produce such a state of things that recovery 
would be a calamity. We place them under a strong temp- 
tation to dissemble, and the lesson once learned is not soon 
forgotten. 

These remarks may seem rather severe and even cru«l 



THE SICK. 263 

Necessity of caution. Quietness and delicacy. 

They are severe, I admit, and I assure my readers that I ex- 
ceedingly regret the necessity of making them. It is far 
easier for us, and pleasanter at first, to give the reins to sen- 
timent, and follow on wherever she leads the way. But cool, 
calculating, intelligent principle is a better leader in the end. 
We need warm feeling as a companion in the voyage, but 
the understanding does better at the helm. What I have 
stated above, and similar views exhibited in the chapter 
on the Poor, are unquestionably the truth, and whoever is 
not willing to know the truth, even where it is unpleasant, 
will never be very efficient or persevering in doing good. 
His benevolence rests on delusion, — a very unsubstantial 
basis. However, we ought not to be always suspicious, — and 
above all, we ought never, without good cause, to indicate 
suspicions. We want the art, — and it is one of the last and 
most difficult of the intellectual arts to be acquired, — of sus- 
pending judgment. We must be able to look at a case of 
alledged sickness and suffering, and to take effectual, though 
cautious measures for its relief, while all the time we keep it 
a question whether the suffering be real or not. We do not 
suppose it to be pretended, — nor do we believe it to be real. 
We have no evidence on one side or the other, and we act 
Very cautiously and prudently, though kindly, until we have 
valid ground for a decision. 

2. Be still and delicate and gentle in all your intercourse 
with the sick. In fact, the same principle in this respect 
applies to moral and physical treatment. That attendant 
will do most toward promoting recovery, who can carry the 
required measures into the most regular and complete effect, 
and yet in the easiest and gentlest manner, — the one who 
can open and shut the door most quietly, and manage so as 
to have occasion least frequently to do it at all ; the one who 
can replenish the fire so as least to attract the patient's at- 
tention, and ffive the fewest directions in his hearing, and 



2'<) \ 



THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 



Tho skillful attendant. 



Stillness and gentleness. 



have the medicine or the drink at his lips at the proper time, 
with the least hustle of preparation ; the one who walks 
softly, whose tones are gentle, whose touch is delicate, and 
whose countenance exhibits an expression of cheerful repose. 
Such an one is most successful in soothing and quieting the 
sensitive susceptibilities of acute disease, and facilitating the 
sanative influences which medical skill, conjoined with the 
spontaneous efforts of nature, have diffused through the 
frame. 




THE STCK-CHAMEEH. 



Now it is not the sensorium merely that must be defended 
against the rude and rough approaches which it could safely 
sustain in health. The organs of the mind are as sensitive 
as the optic or the auditory nerves. This is shown by the 
fact that all the stillness and gentleness of the attendant must 
be easy and natural, or it is unavailing. Evident and labori- 
ous effort to walk on tiptoe, or to renew the fuel in the grata 



THE SICK. 265 

Honesty. Manoeuvring. A case of it. 

in silence, or to suppress the directions "which it is plain are 
given, will disturb the mind of the patient even more perhaps 
than the sounds which they avoid would disturb the ear. 
Now we may learn from these unquestionable facts, a lesson 
in regard to the whole manner in which we are to approach 
the sick with the moral influences which we attempt to bring 
before them. We must remember that even the moral 
powers upon which we propose to act are in a state of mor- 
bid sensitiveness ; at least that the corporeal and mental 
faculties through which we propose to reach them are so. 
Even the moral powers themselves may be morbidly sensi- 
tive, while yet they may be in a state, as we have before 
maintained, altogether unfavorable to receiving any perma- 
nently salutary impression. We must therefore be most 
gentle, and delicate, and tender, both in respect to the aspects 
in which we bring religious truth before the patient, and in 
the tone and manner in which we present it. And we must 
be thus delicate and gentle, without the parade of an effort 
to be so. 

3. Be frank and open with the sick. Gentleness and 
delicacy must never be allowed to degenerate into indirect- 
ness and artifice. Be open and frank, and honest in all 
that you do. This is the only safe principle, in fact, in all 
modes of religious influence. If you desire to pursue a course 
which shall do the least good, and give the greatest offense, 
your wisest way is to adopt a system of manoeuvring and 
hints and inuendoes. When we attempt to convey secret 
reproof or instruction, by the language of indirectness or in- 
sinuation, in order to save offense, we lose our labor, if we 
are not understood, and we give offense in the most awkward 
and unpleasant manner possible, if we are. 

For example a man has lived an irregular life, sheltered 
by his belief that there is to be no future judgment. He is 
taken sick ; he feels uneasy, and consents that his wife should 



266 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

The conversation. The prayer. 

send for you. Now we will suppose that you think it hest 
to gain access to him by stratagem. A very common plan 
would be something like this. 

You find in your little pocket Bible some strong and 
decided passage which asserts a future retribution, and put 
a mark in it at the place. Perhaps you adroitly adjust the 
mark so that it protrudes but a little from the lower edges 
of the leaves, so as to be observable only by your own eye. 
Thus provided, you make your appearance at his bedside, 
and after a little preliminary conversation, you propose to 
read to him a few verses from the Bible, and open, as if by 
accident, to the chapter which you have privately selected 
with reference to his own case. You make a few remarks 
on other verses of it, but read very distinctly the passage 
which you are most desirous that he should hear. Then you 
kneel to offer prayer, and, perhaps, to carry out your strata- 
gem, you use expressions which are aimed all the time against 
his errors, while you profess to be offering supplications to 
God. After some farther conversation, in which you cau- 
tiously abstain from all direct allusion to what has been, 
during the whole time, uppermost in your mind, you leave 
your patient, thinking that you have managed the delicate 
case very adroitly. 

But what now has probably been the effect on the mind 
of your patient ? Probably his thoughts have been occupied 
all the time with the question, whether your selection of that 
chapter was accidental or designed, and his speculations upon 
this have diverted his mind from every serious reflection ; — 
if indeed he has not seen entirely through your thin disguise, 
and is not secretly hurt and displeased at your pursuing a 
policy of artifice and reserve which chills and discourages 
and distresses him. The truth is, this spiritual chicanery 
does not do. Management, artifice, manceuver is always dan- 
gerous, whether between Christian and sinner, teacher and 



THE SICK. 267 

Plain dealing safer. Frankness. Privileged parsons. 

pupil, parent and child, or friend and friend. The chance 
that any person will understand a hint or covert allusion so 
far as to take its force, and yet stop short of perceiving 
that it was intended, is very small. So that such modes 
of accomplishing the ohject, greatly diminish the hope of 
doing good, and vastly increase the probability of doing in- 
jury. 

On the other hand, frank and open-hearted honesty and 
plain-dealing, scarcely ever give offense, provided that they 
are under the control of real benevolence, and are not dic- 
tatorial and assuming. In the case of the sick man last 
described, how much more easily and pleasantly, both to 
yourself and to him, would you gain access to his heart, by 
saying at once, with a tone of frank and cheerful kindness, 
" I have understood, sir, that you have not been accustomed 
to believe in a state of future retribution ;" and then leading 
the conversation directly and openly to the point which both 
you and he have most prominently in view. You thus open 
at once a plain and honest understanding with him. He 
feels that he is treated frankly and openly, and if you take 
the friendly, unassuming attitude before him, which man 
ought always to take with his fellow-man, you will find that 
whether you succeed or fail in bringing him to receive the 
truth, you will not fail in securing his respect and attach- 
ment. 

In fact, plain, honest, open-hearted men are noted for 
giving no offense, — even to a proverb. They are called 
privileged persons ; so much are they allowed to say without 
awakening resentment. But this their freedom is not by any 
means their own personal prerogative ; it is the universal 
privilege of frankness, honesty, and unaffected good- will, — 
all the world over. 

4. While we are plain and direct in dealing with the 
sick, we must remember their weakness, and not exhaust 



268 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Quiet for the sick. 

them by such a course as shall force them to active effort in 
our intercourse with them. So far as intercourse with ua 
is concerned, the more passive we leave them, the better. 
Every exertion, mental or bodily, fatigues them. Forming 
a mental conclusion on the most simple point, is often a bur- 
den. If the question is only whether you shall bring them 
one beverage or another, to moisten their parched lips, both 
being upon the table, they would rather generally that you 
would decide, than put the question to them. 

The act of considering, fatigues, — the simplest question 
rouses them from the state of repose ; and framing an answer 
to any inquiry requires an effort which it is better to save 
them. Thus even the visit of a friend, who barely comes to 
the bedside, and speaks scarcely a word, produces restlessness 
which is slow to subside again. The simple presence of the 
stranger disturbs, and imposes a feeling of restraint and a 
necessity of attention ; — a sort of feeling that something 
ought to be said, while yet the patient has nothing to say 
Even to look at a sick child, makes him restless in his cradle. 

And yet that same sick child would perhaps enjoy your 
visit if you would pay no apparent attention to him, but sit 
and talk a short time with his mother. In that case his 
mind follows on easily and gently in the train of your narra- 
tive or dialogue, without being aroused to the necessity of 
actively participating in it. The mind loves, under the 
feebleness of disease, to be passive and still. It often enjoys 
a gentle action exerted upon it, while any thing that arouses 
it to any action in return, destroys its rest, and makes it 
Buffer uneasiness and fatigue. 

Now there are many cases where these facts must be kept 
fully in view, in efforts to promote the spiritual benefit of the 
sick, and where we must avoid arousing them to the neces- 
sity of active intellectual effort. The direct question, the 
train of argument, interlocutory conversation which keeps 



269 



the mind of the patient intent to follow you and to frame hia 
replies, — all these fatigue and exhaust, if the bodily weak 
ncss is extreme. And they are not necessary, as will be seen 
at once, if we consider what the nature of the change is 
which we wish to effect. "Whatever may be the character 
of the patient, it is a moral change, not an intellectual one, 
which we desire to produce. We do not wish to cultivate 
his intellect, to carry him forward in theology, or to try his 
strength in an argument. We wish simply to produce a 
change of action in the moral movements of his soul. We 
wish that those affections which now vibrate in unison with 
the world and sin, should change their character into a 
unison with holiness and love. It is indeed evident that the 
truth is the only means of promoting this change ; or rather, 
that a degree of truth must be admitted by the mind or 
there can be no hope. But then in a vast majority of cases 
this truth is known and admitted beforehand. In fact, far 
less is necessary to make the way of penitence and faith 
plain and open before the feet of the sinner, than is generally 
supposed. 

Besides, it is not so much the truth, in the shape of prop 
ositions which are to be maintained by argument, and 
received as theological theorems forced upon the mind by 
the severity of the logic which sustains them, which is the 
means of conversion. It is truth, as a view, a moral pic- 
ture, formed by the spiritual conception, and contemplated 
in all its beauty and loveliness ; it is this that touches the 
heart, and is the means of awakening new spiritual life in 
the soul. It is such truth as is prese?ited to the mind, not 
proved to it. 

Instead, therefore, of a labored argument, or a formal 
exhortation to the sufferer, on the duty of submitting to God, 
an address to which he only listens with painful, wearisome 
effort, — and which only leaves him restless and uneasy when 



270 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Truth to be presented quietly. 

you finish it, because he has nothing to reply, you take from 
your pocket a little hymn-book, and say to him, " I must 
not talk with you. I know you are too feeble to talk, but 
I will read to you a few verses of a hymn, and then bid you 
good-bye." 

You then read as follows : 

" ' My times are in thy hand,' 
My God, I "wish them there ; 
My life, my friends, my soul I leave 
Entirely to thy care. 

' My times are in thy hand,' 

Whatever they may be, 
Pleasing or painful, dark or bright, 

As best may seem to thee. 

' My times are in thy hand,' 

Why should I doubt or fear ? 
My Father's hand will never cause 

His child a needless tear." 

Now I am well aware that a cold, hardened lover of the 
world, interested in religious conversation only because he 
is alarmed at the approach of death, can not certainly be 
expected to yield himself at once with filial submission into 
the hands of his Maker, merely by hearing the language of 
submission used by another, — even if the reading of it is pre- 
faced by words of kindness and sympathy on the part of his 
visitor. The change from dislike, and fear, and shrinking, 
in respect to God, to entire self-devotion, confidence and love, 
is altogether too great, and also altogether too far beyond all 
mere human instrumentality, for us to depend upon this. 
Yet still, no person who has observed human nature with 
attention can doubt that the state of mind produced by such 
circumstances as those here described, is most favorable for 



THE SICK. 271 

A change of heart. The Savior. John Randolph. Remorse. 



the promotion of this change. Such a presentation of truth, 
furnishes the occasion on which new spiritual life is awaken- 
ed. The idea of filial submission, fairly and distinctly brought 
before the mind, takes a stronger hold upon the conscience 
than the most conclusive argument for submission. The 
latter calls the intellect mainly into action ; the former goes 
directly to the heart. 

We must remember that it is not alarm or agitation, or 
the giving up of theological errors, or perceiving new theo- 
logical truth, which can prepare the soul for death ; — but a 
change of heart. This alarm or agitation, or this change 
of theological opinion, may often be, especially in cases of 
health, the antecedent step ; and the labors of the preacher 
may often be directed to the production of them. But they 
are only means to an end, and there are some peculiar rea- 
sons why, in sickness, the attempt to produce them should 
be avoided. In sickness the enemy is as it were disarmed. 
He lies defenseless and helpless in the hands of God, and our 
policy is to come to him in the gentlest manner possible, out 
of regard to his physical feebleness, and just lay before him 
the bread of life, in hopes that the Holy Spirit will dispose 
him to eat- of it and live. 

I need scarcely say that the mercy of God in Jesus Christ, 
is the main truth to be thus presented to the mind of the 
sick or dying sinner. The need of a Savior is felt then, 
though it may have been denied and disbelieved before. 
John Randolph, when he gazed upon the word Remorse, 
shown to him at his direction, upon his dying bed, and re- 
peated it with such an emphasis of suffering, and then turned 
to an atoning Savior for a refuge from the terrifying specter, 
acted as the representative of thousands. The soul, distress- 
ed, burdened, struggling in vain to escape its load by mere 
confession, finds a refuge in a Mediator, which it can not 
elsewhere find. " God so loved the woidd, that he gave his 



272 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

An atonement. The hymn. 

only begotten Son, that whosoever would believe in him 
should not perish, but have everlasting life" — comes home like 
cool water to the thirsty soul. There is no substitute for it. 
Nothing else will soothe and calm the troubled spirit under 
the anguish of bitter recollections of the past, and dark fore- 
bodings for the future. 

But even this cup of comfort and peace must be presented 
properly, or the presentation of it will be in vain. At least, 
it is far more likely to be received, if brought forward in 
accordance with the directions already given. You may, for 
instance, here, as before, simply read a few verses of a hymn, 
in the patient's hearing, thus : 

" Heart-broken, friendless, poor, cast down, 
"Where shall the cbief of sinners fly, 
Almighty Vengeance, from thy frown ? 
Eternal Justice, from thine eye ? 

Lo, through the gloom of guilty fears, 

My faith discerns a dawn of grace ; 
The Sun of Righteousness appears 

In Jesus' reconciling face. 

My suffering, slain, and risen Lord, 

In sore distress I turn to thee ; 
I claim acceptance in thy word ; 

Jesus, nay Savior, ransom me. 

' Prostrate before the mercy-seat, 

I dare not, if I would, despair ; 
None ever perished at thy feet, 

And I will he forever there.' " 

Or you may read a narrative, or you may address direct 
conversation on the subject, or read and comment upon a 
passage of Scripture ; but in all that you do, keep con- 
stantly in mind the patient's weakness, and the state of his 



THE SICK. 273 

Questioning the patient. 

disease, and do not go beyond his powers. This you will 
easily avoid, if you leave him as much as possible in a pas- 
sive state, so far as intercourse with you is concerned. Let 
him lie quiet and undisturbed, so that the whole physical 
and intellectual man may be as completely as possible in a 
state of repose, while you gain a gentle access directly to the 
soul, and hold up there those exhibitions of truth which may 
awaken the moral powers to new spiritual life. 

6. Never attempt to ascertain the effect of your instruc- 
tions to the sick. Do what you can, but leave the result to 
be unfolded at a future day. The reasons for this direction, 
are two. First, you can not ascertain if you try, and 
secondly, you will generally do injury by the attempt. 

First, you can not ascertain if you try. The indications 
of piety, and also of impenitence, upon a sick-bed, are both 
exceedingly delusive. So much depends upon character, 
temperament, constitution, habits of expression, and other 
individual peculiarities, that the most dissimilar appearances 
may be exhibited in cases where the spiritual state is sub- 
stantially the same. In one case, the heart is really changed, 
but the subject of the change dares not believe it, and still 
less dares he express any hope of it ; and his darkness and 
despondency would be mistaken, almost universally, for com- 
tinued impenitence and insubmission. Another, deceived by 
the illusions which we have already explained, finds a false 
peace, which, the more baseless it is, the more confidently he 
expresses it ; and Christians very rarely question the sincerity 
of professions, unless they are compelled to do it by gross in- 
consistency of conduct. 

These difficulties exist, it is true, in other cases besides 
those of sickness, and they should teach us to be less eager 
to ascertain the immediate results of our efforts than we usu- 
ally are ; and less credulous in trusting to them. But they 
apply with tenfold force to sickness, whether it be in the suf* 



274 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Difficulty of judging. 

ferings of acute disease, or in the slow fingerings of decline, 
The world is shut out, and the ordinary test, — the only safe 
one, — the fruit, is here excluded. 

Then, secondly, we do injury hy endeavoring to ascertain 
what effects are produced. We harass and fatigue the pa- 
tient hy pressing him to give us an answer to the claims 
which we present to him. If we lay truth and duty hefore 
him, and, as it were, leave it there, his health will suffer far 
less, than if we follow it with a sort of inquisition into its 
effects. To bear an examination is very hard work, when 
the subject is strong and well, — it is exhausting and irritating, 
to the last degree, in sickness, especially when the patient 
would hardly know how to express his feelings, even if 
they were distinctly developed and mature, and he is, in 
fact, only beginning to experience new states of mind which 
he scarcely understands himself, and certainly can not de- 
scribe. 

It is far better, therefore, both for ourselves, and for the 
soul which we wish to save, that we should not make much 
effort to remove the vail which hangs over its future condi- 
tion. We shall go on with our work in a more humble 
manner, and in a better spirit, if we feel that the duty only 
is ours, and the result of it, God's ; and the sinner who has 
postponed repentance till summoned to his sick-chamber, will 
be most sure of being safe at last, if he does not think him- 
self safe too soon. Some degree of uncertainty in respect to 
the genuineness of a change which has been produced under 
such circumstances, will be the best for him whether he is 
to live or die. 

7. Do not confidently expect much good effect. This, 
however, ought not to be said in an unqualified manner, for 
in all our efforts, a degree of expectation and hope is justly 
warranted, both by the word of God and by common obser- 
vation. — and this decree we ought to entertain as a means 



THE SICK. 275 

Faint hope of success. The sick Christian. 

of enabling us to work with ease and pleasure, and with a 
prospect of success. But in our intercourse with the sick, we 
must not so depend upon leading- them to repentance at the 
late hour to which they have postponed their duty, as to be 
disappointed and discouraged if we see no decided evidence 
of a change. Preparation for death in sickness is made far 
less frequently than is generally supposed. It is surprising 
that it is ever made at all. But the faintest hope that an 
immortal soul may be saved, justifies the most earnest efforts 
and the most heartfelt prayer. This effort must by all means 
be made, but it would be well for mankind if they could, by 
any means, be undeceived about the nature of the spiritual 
influences which will surround them in their dying hours. 
In each particular instance that occurs, our sympathy with sur- 
viving friends leads us to hope against hope, and to encourage 
expectations which do not indeed affect the dead, but which 
raise a false light to lure and destroy the living. "We ought 
to do all in our power to make known the melancholy truth, 
— sad, but unquestionable, — that when the last hours of life 
come, it is generally too late to make preparation, if it has 
been delayed, and too late even to finish it, if it has only been 
begun. It is too late, not because repentance would not 
even then be availing, but because it is the tendency of that 
last sad occasion, if it disturbs the stupor of sin at all, not 
to bring penitence, but only agitation, anxiety, and alarm. 

8. The preceding heads have related chiefly to those whom 
the invasion of sickness, or the approach of death, has found 
unprepared. We are often, however, called to the bedside 
of the dying Christian, whose life has exhibited evidence of 
his reconciliation with God. Our duty with these, is to 
go on with them as far as we may, into the dark valley, to 
cheer, and sustain, and help them. God has himself prom- 
ised to be their stay and support, and the means which he 
uses to accomplish this promise, are often, to a great extent, 



276 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

How decline. 

the kindness and sympathy of a Christian friend. These 
cases are, in some important respects, different from the pre- 
ceding. In those, the work of life has been neglected, and ia 
crowded into the last melancholy hours : in these, that work 
is done already, and nothing remains for the subject of it but 
to go through the last sickness and suffering to the home an- 
ticipated and provided for. In the other case, therefore, 
though there was need of the greatest delicacy and quiet in 
the mode of calling the patient's attention to what was to be 
done, there was yet a great deal to do. In the latter, we 
have only to smooth the path of the sufferer, and speak to 
him in tones of sympathy and affection, and walk along by 
his side. 

Whatever influence the degree of holiness which the 
Christian may have attained to during his life, may have 
upon his happiness and glory in eternity, we have very little 
evidence that any progress which he can make in a few days 
of severe sickness will materially affect it. Our wisest course, 
therefore, in such a case, is, to bring occasionally before the 
mind, as our interviews may give us opportunity, such pre- 
sentations of divine truth as may reawaken holy feeling, and 
cheer and sustain the heart. One of David's short and simple 
petitions, or a scriptural promise, or a verse or two of a hymn, 
not didactic, but expressive of feeling, or a few words in a 
gentle tone, so framed as not to admit of a reply, will be all, 
in many cases, that the patient can bear. I speak now of 
cases of somewhat severe disease. In these, if we have good 
evidence that the preparation for death is really made, — we 
must, as much as possible leave the sufferer in repose. We 
must bring religious truth before the mind chiefly to 
strengthen and sustain it, and to keep there an assurance of 
the unfailing kindness and continued presence of the Savior, 
who has promised to love and to keep his children to the end. 

We err often in such cases, by endeavoring to draw from 



THE SICK. 277 

Expressions of piety by thG sick. 

the dying Christian, the assurances of his unwavering hope, 
or his last testimony to the reality of religion. We do this 
partly to procure subjects of pleasant recollection for friends, 
and partly to furnish new and corroborating evidence to the 
truth of Christianity. But it is wrong to make any such 
efforts. We may safely listen to and receive whatever the 
patient may spontaneously say ; in fact, some of the most 
striking and most powerful evidences of the power of re- 
ligion have been furnished by the testimony which has been 
recorded from the lips of the dying. But if it is extorted, or 
even drawn out — though in the most delicate manner, it is 
of little worth. 

Besides, it is sometimes even cruel to attempt to do this. 
It is painful and fatiguing in the extreme for the patient to 
be examined, — or to be drawn into a conversation so con- 
ducted as to have all the inquisitorial effects of an exami- 
nation. Then the results, in such a case, are no safe cri- 
terion. The mind is so extensively and mysteriously affected 
by the complicated influences of disease, and nervous exhila- 
ration or depression will so mingle with, and modify the re- 
ligious feelings and hopes, that the language and expressions 
of sickness can be, in many cases, only faintly relied upon as 
real evidences of the spiritual state. 

In cases of long-continued and lingering disease, a greater 
latitude of religious conversation and intercourse with a 
Christian patient, may be allowed than would be useful in a 
rapid and fatal disorder. In fact, in such a case, the patient 
may, in the course of several months of slow decline, make a 
very considerable progress in piety ; and the Christian visitor 
may have such a progress in mind, and act with special ref- 
erence to it in all his intercourse. In this case, however, 
there is one great danger ; especially where the subject is 
young. The visitor insensibly allows the object before his 
mind to change from a simple desire to promote the spiritual 



278 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 



Authority of physician. 



progress of his charge, into a desire to gratify himself with 
the indications of this progress. His conversations gradually 
assume a tendency to elicit expressions of piety, rather than 
to promote the silent progress of piety within. The conse- 
quence is, that after a time, some action or expression on the 
part of the patient hetrays lurking vanity or spiritual pride, 
which astonishes and grieves his visitor, and he opens his 
eyes to the sad fact, that he has been all the time cherishing 
affectation and love of display. I do not mean that it has 
been all affectation and love of display. These feelings have 
insensibly and slowly mingled with, and poisoned the piety 
which existed at first, and it is these which the deceived 
visitor has been, with far different intentions, steadily de- 
veloping. 

As the human heart is, we can not be too cautious, in all 
cases and under all circumstances, how we encourage or 
appear to be pleased with professions of any sort. The step 
is so short and so easily taken, from a profession springing 
spontaneously and honestly out of the feeling it represents, to 
a profession arising from a self-cornplaceney in the credit 
of that feeling, that the latter comes very readily after 
the former. And this consideration mingles with those 
others which have been already adduced, to urge us to be 
content when we have faithfully endeavored to do the good, 
without being too solicitous to ascertain exactly whether the 
good is done. 

9. We close this series of directions with one which might 
very properly have been placed at the commencement of it. 
In all our intercourse with the sick, we must acknowledge and 
submit to the authority of the physician and the friends, in 
respect to the extent to which we may go in regard to a 
spiritual influence upon them. We ought not to violate by 
stealth or otherwise, the wishes of those upon whom Provi- 
dence has placed the responsibility, and to whom he has 



THE SICK. 279 

Limits and restrictions. 

given the control. I will not say that there may not be 
some rare exceptions, hut certainly no one can doubt that 
where parental authority, in a case fairly within parental 
jurisdiction, or the orders of a physician who has the respon- 
sibility of life and death resting upon him, rise up like a wall 
in our way, there Providence does not intend that we shall 
go. Whatever good we might fancy that we could do by 
violating these sacred powers, we have no right to violate 
them. In fact we should do no good to violate them, for we 
should create a suspicion and jealousy which would close many 
more doors than we should thus unjustifiably open. It is 
well for the spiritual friend of the patient to have an under- 
standing with the physician, and obtain some knowledge of 
the nature of the disease, especially in respect to its influence 
upon the mind ; and then endeavor to fall in with the plan 
of cure pursued, at least to do nothing to interfere with, or 
thwart it. We are bound to do this, even in a religious 
point of view, for the hope of salvation in the case of a sick 
sinner, lies generally more in a hope of recovery, than in any 
reasonable expectation of benefit from spiritual instructions 
given upon a dying bed. Besides, God has surrounded us in 
every direction, in this world, with limits and restrictions in 
our efforts to do good. We must keep ourselves fairly within 
these limits. What we can not do without trespassing be- 
yond them, we must be willing to leave undone. Thus, in 
order to accomplish our benevolent plans, we must never 
violate the rights of conscience, or of property, or invade the 
just and proper liberty to which every man has an inde- 
feasible title, or be guilty of artifice or of unworthy subter- 
fuge, or infringe upon any sacred relations which God has 
established, and which he justly requires us to respect. We 
must go forward to our work, not so anxious to effect our 
object, as to do any thing in any degree wrong in the attempt 
to effect it. We must conform most strictly and invariably 



280 THE W,\Y TO DO GOOD. 



to all those principles which we are endeavoring to promote, 
and never transgress them ourselves, in our eagerness to 
extend them to others. In a word, we must he upright, 
pure, honest, open and incorruptible in all we do. What 
we can not effect in this way, we must suppose that God 
does not intend that we shall effect at all, — always remem- 
bering that a pure and an unspotted example of piety, is more 
efficacious in promoting the spread of the gospel, than any 
measures whatever which we have to carry mto effect by 
the sacrifice of principle. 



CHILDREN. 28! 



CHAPTER IX. 

CHILDREN. 

" It Is not the will of your Father in heaven that one of these little ones si^.. oia 
perish." 

Suppose that a hundred healthy infants, each a few 
weeks old, were taken from the city of Constantinople, 
and arranged under the care of nurses, in a suite of apart- 
ments, in some public hospital. In an adjoining range of 
rooms, let another hundred, taken from the most virtuous 
families in Scotland, he placed. Take another hundred from 
the haunts of smugglers, or of the pirates which infest the 
West India Seas ; another from the high nobility of the 
families of England, and another from the lowest and most 
degraded haunts of vice, in the faubourg St. Antoine, in 
Paris. Now, if such an infantile representation were made, 
of some of the most marked and most dissimilar of the 
classes, into which the Caucasian race has "been divided 
hy the progress of time, and the doors of the various apart- 
ment thrown open, — the question is, whether the most 
minute and thorough scrutiny could distinguish between 
the classes, and assign each to its origin. They are to be 
under one common system of arrangement and attendance, 
— and we have supposed all the subjects to he healthy, in 
order to cut off grounds of distinction, which an intelligent 
physician might observe in hereditary tendencies to disease. 
Under these circumstances, if the several collections be sub- 
jected to the most thorough examination, would any inge- 



282 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 



Effect of education. 



nuity or science, be able to establish a distinction between 
them ? Probably not. There would be the same forms and 
the same color ; — the same instincts, — the same cries. The 
cradles which would lull the inmates of one apartment 
to repose, would be equally lulling to the others, — and the 
same bright objects, or distinct sounds, which would awaken 
the senses, and give the first gentle stimulus to mind, in one 
case, would do the same in all. Thus inspection alone of 
these specimens would not enable us to label them ; and if 
they were to remain for months, or even for years under our 
care, for concealed and embryo differences to be developed, 
we should probably wait in vain. 

But, instead of thus waiting, let us suppose that the five 
hundred children are dismissed, each to its mother and its 
home, and that they all pass through the years of childhood 
and youth, exposed to the various influences which surround 
them in the dwellings and neighborhoods to which they 
respectively belong ; — among the bazars and mosques of the 
Turkish city, or the glens and hillsides of Scotland, or in the 
home of noise and violence, whether forecastle or hut, of 
the bucaniers, — or in the nurseries and drawing-rooms of 
Grosvenor Square, or the dark crowded alleys of the Parisian 
faubourg. Distribute them thus to the places to which they 
respectively belong, and leave them there, till the lapse of 
time has brought them to maturity ; — then bring them all 
together, for examination again. 

How widely will they be found to have separated now ! 
Though they commenced life alike and together, their paths 
began at once to diverge, and now, when we compare them, 
how totally dissimilar. Contrast the Turk with the Scot, — 
the hardened pirate, with the effeminate nobleman. Examine 
their characters thoroughly, — their feelings, their opinions, 
their principles of conduct, their plans of life, their pursuits, 
their hopes, their fears. Almost every thing is dissimilar 



CHILDREN. 283 

Education of circumstances. 

There is, indeed, a common, humanity in all, but every 
thing not essential to the very nature of man is changed ; 
and characters are formed, so totally dissimilar, that we 
might almost doubt the identity of the species. 

There is another thing to be observed, too, — that every 
individual of each class, with scarcely a single exception, 
goes with his class, and forms a character true to the influ- 
ences which have operated upon him in his own home. You 
will look in vain for a single example of luxurious effemi- 
nacy among the pirates' sons, or of virtuous principle among 
children brought up in a community of thieves. You can 
find cases enough of this kind, it is true, in works of fiction, 
but few in real life ; — and those few are not real exceptions. 
They are accounted for by the mixed influences, which, on 
account of seme peculiar circumstances, bear upon some in- 
dividuals, and modify the character which they might have 
been expected to form. The Turkish children are all Turks, 
unless there may be one here and there, among a million, 
whose course may have been deflected a little by some ex- 
traordinary circumstances in his history. So the Parisian 
children all become Frenchmen in their feelings and opinions, 
and principles of action ; — the children of nobles all become 
aristocratic ; and those who in London or Paris find their 
homes in the crowded quarters of vice, — if they are brought 
up thieves and beggars, thieves and beggars they will live. 

And yet it is not education, in the common sense of that 
term, which produces these effects upon human character ; 
that is, they are not produced by the influence of formal 
efforts, on the part of parents and friends, to instruct the 
young, and to train them up to walk in their own footsteps. 
In respect to the acquisition of knowledge, and of accom- 
plishments, great effort would be made to give formal in- 
struction by some of the classes enumerated above ; but in 
regard to almost all that relates to the formation of character, 



284 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Instructions not exclusively for parents. 

— principles of action, — the sentiments and the feelings, — 
the work is done by the thousand nameless influences which 
surround every child, and which constitute the moral atmos- 
phere in which he spends his youthful years. 

Now this kind of moral atmosphere, which is so effectual 
in determining the character which the children who grow 
up in the midst of it form, every one does a great deal to 
produce, — altogether more than he would at first suppose 
possible. So that our influence upon the young, is an ex- 
ceedingly important department of our opportunity for doing 
good. In fact, God has assigned us a double duty to perform, 
while we remain here. First, to use the world well, while 
we continue in it ; and, secondly, to prepare a generation to 
receive the trust, when we shall pass away from the scene. 
We are not only to occupy well ourselves, but to train up 
and qualify our successors. 

Now the reader may perhaps think that these remarks, 
and what remains in this chapter, on the subject of the 
young, must be intended principally for parents. Far from 
it ; for there are many relations in life which give us a very 
free access to the young, and an influence over them as an 
inevitable result. One person is a parent, and consequently 
exercises a very controlling influence over the whole char- 
acter and future prospects of his children. Another is a 
brother or sister, and enjoys opportunities of influence, almost 
as great as those of a father or mother. Another, who lives, 
perhaps, in a family where there are no children, is intimate 
in the families of neighbors or friends, and is thus thrown 
into frequent intercourse for years, with cousins and nephews 
and nieces, who are all the time catching his spirit and im- 
bibing his principles. Uncle and aunt in such a case are 
very apt to imagine that they have nothing to do but to keep 
in the good graces of their little relatives by an occasional 
picture-book or sugar toy. They forget the vast effects 



CHILDREN. 285 

Influence of relatives. The worsted pocket book. 

which ten years of almost constant and yet unguarded inter- 
course must have, — and still more, the very powerful influ- 
ence which it might have, in giving a right moral turn to 
the sentiments and the feelings, and the whole cast of char- 
acter, if the opportunity were properly improved. In fact, 
if we look back to our own early days, we shall remember 
in how many instances our opinions and sentiments and feel- 
ings, and perhaps our whole cast of character, received a 
turn from the influence of an uncle, or an aunt, or a neigh- 
bor. In my father's family there was an antique pocket- 
book, of party-colored worsted, — the admiration of our childish 
eyes, — which contained a collection of the college composi- 
tions, and journals, and letters, of an amiable uncle, who 
died so early that his nephews could never know him, except 
through these remains. And many a rainy day, and many a 
winter evening, was this pocket-book explored, as a mine of 
instruction and enjoyment. Moral principle w r as awakened 
and cultivated by the sentiments of an essay, and literary 
interest or ambition aroused by the spirit of a forensic discus- 
sion, or by the various memorials of a college life ; and feel- 
ings of kindness and good- will were cherished by the amiable 
and gentle spirit which were breathed in the letters or the 
journal. The whole undoubtedly exerted a vast influence, 
in giving form to the character and sentiments of the boys 
who had access to it ; and yet how vastly greater would 
have been the influence of a constant intercourse with the 
living man. 

Or, if the reader has neither of the above means of influ- 
ence, he is or may be, perhaps, a Sabbath-school teacher, or 
he may have boys in his employment, or he may, in his 
business, have frequent intercourse with many who come to 
him as messengers, or who stand by, unnoticed but very 
attentive listeners to his directions or conversation. We 
thus, in a thousand other ways, have a connection with the 



286 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Plan of the chapter. Characteristics of childhood. 

young, which, though we may consider it slight, yet exerts a 
powerful influence in impressing our own characters upon 
the plastic material which it reaches. Hence, all who wish 
to do good should understand something of the character and 
susceptibilities of children, and make it a part of their con- 
stant care to exert as happy and as salutary an influence 
upon them, as they can. I proceed to give some practical 
directions by which this must be done. They are not intend- 
ed particularly for parents, but for all who have any inter- 
course with the young. They who have made this subject 
a particular subject of reflection, will find nothing new in 
these suggestions. The principles here advanced are those 
which common sense, and the results of common observation 
establish ; — they are presented here, not as new discoveries, 
but as old and obvious truths, to be kept in mind by those 
who would accomplish the most extensive and the most 
unmixed good, ha this part of the widely extended vineyard 
of God. 

The plan of discussion which we shall pursue will be, 

I. To consider some of the prominent characteristics of 
childhood, in accordance with which, an influence over the 
young, can alone be secured. 

II. Deduce from them some general rules. 

I. PKOMIKENT CHARACTERISTICS OF CHILDHOOD. 

To understand the course which must be taken, in order 
to secure an influence over children, we must first understand 
the leading principles and characteristics of childhood, — for 
it is these which we are to act upon. In a summary ex- 
pression of them, we may say that to exercise upon every 
object their dawning faculties, both of body and mind, — to 
learn all that they can about the world into which they are 
ushered, presenting, as it does, so strange and imposing a 
spectacle to their senses, — to love those who sympathize with 



CHILDREN. 287 

Sensation of whiteness. 



and aid them in these objects,— and to catch the spirit, and 
imitate the actions of those whom they thus love, — these, we 
should say, are the great leading principles, by which the 
moral and intellectual nature of childhood is governed. 
These we shall consider in detail. 

1 . To exercise their opening faculties. 

The infant's first pleasure of this kind is the employment 
of the senses, beginning with gazing at the fire, or listening 
with quiet pleasure to the sound of his mother's voice sing- 
ing in his ear. While the little being just ushered into ex- 
istence, lies still in his cradle, gazing upon the wall, or with 
his chin upon his nurse's shoulder, listens almost breathlessly 
to the song which is lulling him to sleep, how often does the 
mother say, " I should like to know exactly what he is think- 
ing of, — what state of mind he is in." It is not very difficult, 
probably, to tell. Imagine yourself in his situation ; look 
up upon the white wall, and banish all thought and reflec- 
tion, as far as you can, — or rather conceive of yourself as 
having done it entirely, so as in imagination to arrest all 
operations of the mind, and retain nothing but vision. Let 
the light come in to the eye, and produce the sensation of 
whiteness, and nothing more. Let it awaken no thought, no 
reflection, no inquiry. Imagine yourself never to have seen 
any white before, so as to make the impression a novel one, 
— and also imagine yourself never to have seen any thing, 
or heard any thing, before, so as to cut off all ground for 
wonder or surprise. In a word, conceive of a mind, in the 
state of simple sensation, with none of those thousand feel- 
ings and thoughts, which sensation awakens in the spirit that 
is mature, and you have probably the exact state of the infan- 
tile intellect, when the first avenues are opened by which the 
external world is brought to act upon its embryo mind. Can 
it be surprising, then, under such circumstances, that even 
Wi'pre sensation should be pleasure ? 



THE WAY TO DO GOOE. 



Mental processes. 



Pleasure of action. 



As the child advances through the first months of exist- 
ence, the mental part of the processes which the sensations 
awaken are more and more developed ; for we are not to 
consider the powers of mind as called at once into existence, 
complete and independent at the beginning, and then joined 
to the corporeal frame, — but as gradually developed in the 
progress of years, and that too, in a great measure, through 
the instrumentality of the senses. After some months have 
passed away, the impressions from without penetrate, as it 
were, farther within, and awaken new susceptibilities which 
gradually develop themselves. Now each new faculty is a 
new possession, and the simple exercise of it, without end or 
aim, is and must be a great positive pleasure. First comes 

the power to walk. 
We are always sur- 
prised at seeing how 
much delight the child, 
when he first finds that 
he has strength and 
steadiness to go upright 
across the room, expe- 
riences in going across 
again and again — from 
table to table, and from 
chair to sofa, as long 
as his strength remains. 
But why should we be 
surprised at it ? Sup- 
pose the inhabitants of 
any town should find 
themselves suddenly possessed of the power of flying ; — 
we should find them for hours and days filling the air 
flitting from tree to tree, and from house top to steeple, 
with no end or aim but the pleasure enjoyed in thp 




FIEST STEPS. 



CHILDREN. 289 

Understanding language. Stories. 

simple exercise of a new poiver. The crowds which press 
to the ticket-office of a new railroad, — or the multitudes of 
delighted citizens brought out by an unexpected fall of snow 
in a warm climate, jingling about in every sort of vehicle 
that can be made to^ slide, show that man has not outgrown 
the principle. 

Now this love of the exercise of the new power is obvious 
enough in the cases which I have referred, to, as seeing, hear- 
ing, walking, and in many other cases, as using the limbs, pro- 
ducing sounds by striking hard, bodies, breaking, upsetting, 
piling up blocks, or dragging about footstools and chairs. It 
is precisely the same feeling which would lead a man to go 
about uprooting trees, or breaking enormous rocks, if he should 
suddenly find himself endued with the power of doing so. It 
is obvious enough in these common physical operations, but 
we forget how many thousand mental processes there are, 
and others complicated, partly mental and partly physical, 
which possess the same charm in their incipient exercise, and 
which, in fact, make up a large portion of the occupations 
and enjoyments of childhood. 

One of the earliest examples of a mental process, or rathei 
power, which the child is always pleased to exercise, is un- 
derstanding language, or, to describe it more accurately, the 
susceptibility of having pleasant images awakened in the 
mind, by means of the magical power of certain sounds strik- 
ing upon the ear. There are thousands who have observed 
the indications of this pleasure, who do not understand the 
nature and sound of it. Every mother, for example, observes 
that children love to be talked to, long before they can talk 
themselves ; and they imagine that what pleases the listener 
is his interest in the particular thing said, — whereas, it is 
probably only his interest in finding himself possessed of the 
new and strange power of understanding sounds. The 
mother says, "Where's father?" " "Where's father ?" and 
N 



290 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Stories for children. 

imagines that the child is pleased with the inquiry,— 
whereas it is only pleased that that sound, — "Father," — 
striking upon its ear, can produce so strange an effect, as to 
call up to its conception a faint mental image of the man. 
It is this magic power of a word to produce a new and pecu- 
liar mental state, which is probahly the source of pleasure. 
Hence the interest which the little auditor will take, will not 
be in proportion to the connection, or the point, of the story ; 
but to the frequency of the words contained in it which call 
up familiar and vivid ideas. Thus a talk like this. " Fire, 
fire ; pussy runs ; tongs, tongs fall down ; walk, run ; Mary 
walk, Mary run," — will be listened to by the child, who is 
just learning to listen to language, with as much pleasure as 
the most connected or pointed little story. It is not, there- 
fore, what is understood, but the mere power of understand- 
ing, — the first development of a new mental faculty, — which 
pleases the possessor. 

The reader may, perhaps, think at first that this is rather 
a dim distinction. That it is, however, in reality, a broad 
and important one may be made obvious, thus. Suppose we 
should suddenly become possessed of the power of understand- 
ing the language of signs, used by the deaf and dumb, and 
should meet a mute, and observe him talking to his com- 
panion. How much interest we should take in watching his 
gesticulations, simply from the pleasure which the first exer- 
cise of the new power of understanding their meaning would 
give. It would be of no consequence what was the subject 
of the conversation. We should take as great an interest in 
the most common questions and replies, as in the most inter- 
esting narrative ; for the source of our enjoyment would not 
be our interest in what was said, — but the pleasure of first 
enjoying the power of understanding this new mode of saying 
it. So the very little child is pleased, not with the point or 
connectedness of your story, but by the strange production in 



CHILDREN. 29 1 

Source of pleasure. Love of employment. An oSer and the choice* 

his mind of conceptions and images, by the magic influ- 
ence of sounds, — conceptions and images, which heretofore 
have only been produced by the actual presence of their 
prototypes. 

This is one of the simplest cases of the pleasure arising 
from the first exercise of a mental power. There are a 
thousand others which come forth, one after another, all 
through the years of childhood and youth, and keep the 
young mind supplied with new, and still new sources of en- 
joyment. The amusements of children almost all derive 
their charm from their calling into exercise these dawning 
powers, and enabling them to realize their possession. Dig- 
ging in the ground, — making little gardens, — dressing, and 
undressing, and disciplining a doll, — playing store, and meet- 
ing, and company, and soldier, — and a thousand other such 
things, call into play the memory, the imagination, the use 
of the limbs and senses, and thus exercise all the powers 
which have not yet lost their novelty. In fact, these powers 
are so rapidly progressive that they are always new. 

This love of action now,— this pleasure in trying the new 
powers is among the strongest of the propensities of childhood . 
It is certainly stronger than the appetites. At least my ob- 
servation has led me to think so, and to put the question to 
the test, in one case, I have addressed a boy, five years old, — 
and at least as great a lover of sugar and of sugar dogs as other 
boys of his years, — who has come into my study while I am 
penning these remarks, thus : 

" Suppose, now, I should tell you that you might either 
have four large lumps of sugar, or go and get some sticks 
and paper, and help me make my fire ; which should you 
rather do ?" 

" Why, — I think I had rather help you make the fire. 1 ' 

•' Well, suppose I should tell you that I was going to cut 
some paper into small pieces, and do up a little of my b.'ack 



292 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Another offer. Counting. An experiment. 

sand in each piece ; and that you might have your choice, 
either to sit up to the table and help me, or have a large 
piece of apple pie, or three sugar dogs, and one handsome 
sugar rabbit ?" 

The countenance of the child showed for an instant that it 
was a very serious question, but he said, 

" I should rather help do up the sand, — if there are scis- 
sors enough," glancing an eye at the single pair of slender 
paper shears which lay upon the table. 

I have no doubt that a vast majority of children, from 
three to five years of age, would answer similar questions in 
a similar manner. What time and money are spent in sweet- 
meats and expensive toys, to win an access for the donors to 
children's hearts, or to make them happy, while all the time 
the path to childish affection and enjoyment lies in so totally 
different a direction ! 

In fact the charm of a toy, for children, consists generally 
much more in what they can do with it, than in the thing 
itself, however curious and beautiful it may be. 

Any one who will make childhood a study, by observing 
its peculiarities, and making experiments upon its feelings 
and tendencies, will find innumerable examples of the grati- 
fication that children derive from the mere exercise of their 
nascent powers without end or aim. There is enumeration, 
for example, — the power of conceiving of numbers, and of 
their relations to one another. You may try this experiment 
upon it ; take a young child, from three to four years of age, 
just old enough to begin to count, and sit up with him to a 
table with ten wafers, or kernels of corn, or coffee, before 
you. Let him look at the objects, until his interest in them 
simply as objects is satisfied, and then begin to count them 
and reckon them in various ways, so as gently to exercise his 
dawning powers of calculation. First count them all. Then 



CHILDREN. 



293 



minute and simple. 



gg 



«te 



\.5 






count two of them, and 
two more, and then the 
whole four. Go on 
perhaps thus : 

" There is one, and 
there is another, that 
makes two ; now there 
is another. How many 
do two and anoth- 
er, counted together, 
make ? Let us see. 
One, two, three. They 
make three. Two 
things, and then an- 
other thing put with 
them, make three 
things. 

" Now we will put them in a row, and "begin at this end 
and count them. It makes ten. Now Ave will "begin at the 
other end, and see if it makes the same. Yes, it makes ten. 
It is the same. If we count them from this end to that it 
makes ten, and if we count them from that end to this, it 
makes ten. Now we will begin in the middle," &c. 

I give this, in order to show how extremely short and 
simple are the steps which must he taken, in order to enable 
the child to follow, when the reckoning powers are just be- 
ginning to be formed. Such steps may be indefinitely varied, 
by a little ingenuity, while yet they keep the mind of the 
child all the time occupied with simply reckoning numbers, 
that is, exercising a power which he then, almost for the first 
time, finds that he possesses. In fact, he can hardly be said 
to have possessed it before. The exercise not merely calls 
them into play ; it almost calls them into being. Go on, 
then, with the work, for the purpose of seeing how long he 



29-1 THE WAY TO CO GOOD. 

Make work for children. Second principle. 

will continue to be interested. Unless at the time of the ex- 
periment some other object of excitement has possession of 
his mind, your patience will be exhausted, long before lie 
will be ready to get down. 

Such examples are numberless. In fact, let an intelligent 
observer, when he sees children busily engaged in some 
scheme of amusement or occupation, pause a moment and 
look over them, and ask, " What now is the secret source of 
pleasure here ? What constitutes the charm ? What power 
of body or mind is it, the exercise of which gives the enjoy- 
ment ?" Such inquiries, and the analysis to which they lead, 
will give one a deep insight into the character and feelings 
of childhood, and the great springs of its action. He who 
would gain an ascendency over children must thus study 
them, and in his plans for amusing them he must aid them 
in this their leading desire. Make work for them, — lay be- 
fore them objects and occupations which shall make them ac- 
quainted with their powers by calling these powers out into 
action ; — being careful always to lead them to modes of ac- 
tion which will not interfere with the comforts or rights of 
others. No one can really understand children in this re- 
spect, and sympathize with them, and aid them, without 
finding their hearts bound soon to him by the strongest ties 
of gratitude and affection. But we must pass on to the other 
leading impulses of childhood as above enumerated 

2. To learn all that they can about the world into which 
they find themselves ushered. 

Next to their desire to act, their strongest impulse is a de- 
sire to know. This, like the other, has been universally ob- 
served ; but, like the other, its true nature is not very exactly 
understood. It is not so much a desire to know what is re- 
markable or curious, as to know what is ; it is the interest 
Df knowing, rather than an interest in the extraordinariness 
of what is known With them, the distinction between what 



CHILDREN. 295 

Subjects for talk. Every thing new. 



is common and what is extraordinary is lost, or rather it has 
never been acquired. All things are new to them, and con- 
sequently if you tell them something, or explain to them 
something, it is of but little consequence what it is. 

" My child is continually asking for stories, — more stories, 
until my powers of imagination or invention are exhausted, — 
what shall I do?" This has been the exclamation a thou- 
sand times. It shows that the mother who makes it does 
not distinctly understand the nature of the intellectual want 
which she is called on to supply. The word " stories" means 
talk, — or at least any talk about what is new will satisfy 
the appetite for stories. Set off, then, on any track, and talk. 
Suppose you could yourself meet a man who had been in the 
moon, and he should sit down and describe accurately and viv- 
idly what he saw there any day ; — how he took a walk, and 
what objects he saw, and what incidents he met with : or 
suppose he should describe the interior of a room, — any room 
whatever there, — the furniture, the instruments, their uses and 
construction ; — why, there would not be an hour of his resi- 
dence in the planet that would not afford abundant materials 
for a conversation to which we should listen with the deep- 
est interest and pleasure. Now we must remember that this 
world is all moon to children, and we can scarcely go amiss 
in describing it. There is no hour in your day, and no ob- 
ject that you see, which is not full of subjects of interest to 
them. 

For instance, suppose a child comes to his mother's side 
while she is sitting at her work, and asks for a story. The 
mother casts her eyes about her for a subject, and as my 
sand-box is the object that presents itself first to my attention, 
I will suppose it to be the one that arrests hers. " Come," she 
says, " I will tell you about my sand-box." She then shows 
it to him, unscrews the top, points out the various parts, and 
explains them. It is a little broader at the bottom than in 



296 



TIIE WAY TO DO GOOD. 



the middle, that it may stand steady, — and at the top, that 
it may receive the sand more easily from the paper. She 
shows why there are many small holes, instead of one large 
one, — -what the sand is used for, — how it adheres to the wet 
ink and not to the dry, — why hlack, rather than white sand 
is used, and why the hox is formed into a sort of hasin at the 
top. And each one of these particulars is a subject of itself, 
as copious as the whole box which suggested them. The 
first, for instance, the broadness of the bottom, to secure 
steadiness of support, may lead to other similar cases ; — the 
bottom of the. lamp, or the inkstand, or a hundred other things 
similarly constructed, and the principles by which steadiness 
is given to chairs, tables, &c. by the position of the legs. In 
the same manner each of the other parts of the article is of 
itself an independent topic. 

A pin, a wafer, a key, a stick of wood, — there is nothing 
which is not full of interest to children, if you will only be 
minute enough. Take a stick of wood. Tell how the tree 
it came from sprang up out of the ground, — years ago ; how 
it grew every summer by the sap ; how this stick was first a 
little bud, next year a shoot, and by-and-by a strong branch ; 
how a bird perhaps built her nest on it ; how squirrels ran 
up and down, and ants crept over it ; how the woodman cut 
down the tree, &c. &c, expanding all the particulars into 
the most minute narrative. It is surprising that any mother 
can ever find herself at a loss for subjects of conversation 
with her child. 

All the explanations in these cases should be accom- 
panied, by the exhibition of the article referred to, and by 
experiments with it. Such simple experiments and illustra- 
tions, relating to the most common occupations and occur- 
rences of life, will occupy the embryo powers of little chil- 
dren with as intense an interest as would be excited in 



CHILDREN. 



197 



A thousand subjects. 




maturer minds by imposing philosophical spectacles, exhib- 
ited, with all the appliances of modern science, in the most 
splendid lecture-room. 

Every object, in fact, in the mother's parlor, may be made 
the subject of a lecture — or a story, as the little auditors will 
consider it, — for half an hour. 

And besides this whole class of subjects, — that is, descrip- 
tions of the common things that the child sees, there is 
not a half-hour in any day, the history of which would not 
furnish a highly interesting narrative to a child. Take for 
instance your first half-hour in the morning ; describe how 
the room looked when you awoke, — what you first thought 
of, — how you proceeded in dressing, — the little difficulties 
which you met with, and their remedies ; what you first saw 
when you came down stairs, and what you did, — when you 

N* 



298 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Describe any thing to children. 

first met your little auditor, — what you thought, and did, and 
said. The whole would naturally suggest and include much 
which would be new information to the child ; although this 
would not be the principal source of its interest. The pleas- 
ure which the hearer Mall derive from the discourse, is the 
gratification of the mysterious appetite of the human mind 
for language. If you describe nothing which the child did 
not know before, he still enjoys the description. Our readers 
will not dispute this if they call to mind the fact that the 
most interesting passages they read in books, are graphic 
accounts of scenes or events which they have witnessed 
themselves. The charm of all good description consists in its 
presenting to the reader, in spirited, graphic language, that 
with which, as a reality, he is most perfectly familiar. 
Hence it happens that if we take up a traveler's account of 
our country we turn first to read the description which he 
has given of our own town ; partly, perhaps, from curiosity 
to know his opinion of us, but still in a great degree for the 
simple pleasure of seeing, through the medium of language, 
that with which we are perfectly already familiar by the eye. 
Our object, then, in talking to children, is not to find things 
new and strange and wonderful. We have only to clothe in 
language such conceptions and truths as they can understand, 
without racking our invention to produce continual novelty. 
Conversation conducted thus, though at first view it might 
seem mere amusement, will be, in fact, very highly useful. 
The child will rapidly acquire familiarity with language by 
it, which is one of the most important acquisitions he can 
make. Then you will insensibly say a great deal which will 
be new to your auditor, - though it may seem commonplace 
to you ; and though you may not aim always at moral 
instruction, the narratives and descriptions which you give 
will spontaneously take from your own mind a moral exjves- 
sion which will have great influence upon his. 



CHILDREN. 299 

The way to tell stories. A specimen. Subjects. 

Any half-hour of any day will furnish you, on the princi- 
ples above explained, with abundant materials for a long 
narrative. Any walk which you have taken, or piece of 
work which you have done, or any plan that you have in 
mind, if properly described, will abundantly feed and satisfy 
for the time being, your child's desire to know ; for you must 
always remember it is not necessary that what you say 
should be particularly interesting to you, in order to interest 
him. 

Or, if you wish occasionally for something more strictly 
a story, set off at once with any hero, and in any direction ; 
you can not go amiss. " A boy once thought he would go 
out and take a walk, so he put on his hat, and took a little 
cane, and went down by a brook behind his father's house." 
Say so much without any idea of what you are going to say 
next, and give the reins to the imagination and follow on. 
Do not task your powers to find something new and strange ; 
every thing is new and strange to childhood. You may 
therefore save youself the trouble of research, and take what 
comes. Let your hero see something on a tree, and wonder 
what it is, and find that it is a knot, — and then see some- 
thing else, and find it is a bird's nest, and make various 
efforts to get up to it. Let him meet other boys, and 
sit down on a log to rest, or find a spring of water and try 
various ways to drink, or throw little stones into a brook, the 
size and shape of each, the kind of place they fall into, and 
the various noises made by them, to be specified ; — and when 
you are tired of talking, leave your hero in the woods, with 
the promise to finish the account of his adventures and his 
return, the next time. 

A walk in a village, an imaginary history of a man's 
bringing a load of wood to market, or an account of a boy's 
making a collection of playthings in a cabinet, — what he 
had and bow he arranged them ; — or the common every-day 



300 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 



Conscientious scruples. A danger. 



adventures of a cat about house, now sleeping in the corner, 
now watching at a mouse's hole in the dark cellar, and now 
ascending on the house-top, and walking along on the edge 
of the roof, looking down to the hoys in the yard below. I 
mention these, not to propose them, particularly, but to show 
how wide is the field, and how endless the number and the 
variety of the topics which are open before you. I ought to 
remark here, however, that the distinction between what is 
true, and what is only imaginary in its details, ought to be 
clearly explained to the child, and he ought to know when 
you are narrating real, and when fictitious incidents. 

Parents sometimes entertain some fears that there may be 
danger in narrating any thing to children which is not his- 
torically true, lest it should lead them first to undervalue 
strict truth, and finally to form the habit of falsehood. 
Their fears are not without some grounds, — for it does re- 
quire careful watch and constant effort, in any case, to form 
and preserve a habit of veracity, in children. Whether you 
relate fictitious stories to them or not, you will often find 
propensities to deceit or falsehood in their hearts, which it will 
require all your moral power to withstand. We can not, 
therefore, avoid the danger of children's falling into the sin 
of falsehood. The only question is how we can most advan- 
tageously meet and overcome it. 

Now it seems to me that we can not most easily do it by 
confounding fictitious narration with falsehood, and con- 
demning both. For no one pretends that the narration of 
fictitious incidents, is, in itself, criminal. It is objected to 
only as having a tendency to lead to what is criminal, — the 
intention to deceive being essential to the guilt of falsehood. 
The question is, then, where, in attempting to guard children 
from falsehood, we can most advantageously take our stand. 
Shall we assume the position that all narration not his- 
torically true, is wrong ? or shall we show them that inten- 



CHILDREN. 301 

Is fiction allowable at all? 

tion to deceive is the essence of the guilt of falsehood, and 
contend only against that. My own opinion is that it is 
easier and better, in every respect, to do the latter. If the 
distinction which you make with them, is between what is 
historically true on one side, and all that is imaginary on the 
other, they can get but a shadowy idea of its being really a 
distinction between right and wrong. If, however, you 
bring them at once to the line between honesty and decep- 
tion, they can see easily and readily that you have brought 
them to the boundaries of guilt. In maintaining this dis- 
tinction you will have reason and conscience clearly assenting, 
and here, consequently, you can raise the strongest fortifica- 
tion against sin. On the other hand, if you extend your lines 
of defense so as to include what you admit is not wrong, but 
only supposed to be dangerous, you extend greatly your circle 
of defense, you increase the difficulty of drawing a line of 
demarcation, and, notwithstanding all you can do or say, 
your theory condemns the mode of instruction adopted by the 
Savior. 

We may, therefore, indulge the imagination freely in chil- 
dren, but we must raise an impassable wall on the first con- 
fines of intention to deceive, and guard it with the greatest 
vigilance and decision. 

I would, therefore, for example, if a little child should ask 
for a story, say, perhaps, 

" Shall I tell you something real or something imaginary ?" 

" "What is ' imaginary ?' " 

" Why, if I should make up a story about a squirrel named 
Chipperee, that lived in the woods, and tell you what he did 
all day ; how he came out of his hole in the morning, and 
what he saw, and what he found to eat, and what other 
squirrels he met ; and about his going dc wn to a little brook 
to drink, and carrying home nu' 5 for the winter, &c. — when 



302 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 



True line to be drawn. 



all the time, there never was any such squirrel, hut I made 
up the whole story, — that would be imaginary." 

" But, father, that would not he true. Is it not wrong to 
say any thing that is not true ?" 

" No, it is not always wrong to say what is not strictly 
true. If I were to say any thing that was not true, in order 
to deceive you, that would he wrong. For example, if I had 
some hitter medicine to give you, and should cover it up with 
sugar, and tell you it was all sweet sugar, that would be to 
deceive you, and that would be wrong. But if I invent a 
story about a squirrel, just to amuse you, and teach you in 
a pleasanter way how squirrels live, — when I tell you 
plainly, that it is not a true account of any particular squir 
rel, — should you think that there would be any thing wrong 
in that ?" 

Thus it seems that in this case, as in most others, it will 
be easiest, safest, and most expedient, as well as most philo- 
sophical, to draw the line at the real point where wrong 
begins. Here only is there a tangible moral distinction 
wdiich children can appreciate, and though the work of 
keeping them off the forbidden grounds of deception and 
falsehood will require, in any case, much effort and care, it 
seems as if this was the most proper place to take the stand. 
If, however, after mature reflection, any parents think differ- 
ently, and still consider all fiction dangerous, they ought 
undoubtedly to be controlled by their own conscientious 
convictions, and abstain from it altogether. 

We have mentioned three great classes of subjects which 
may supply mothers with means of conversation with their 
children so as to gratify their almost insatiable appetite for 
knowledge. We have gone thus fully into this part of the 
subject on account of the universality of the complaint on 
the part of those who have the care of young children, that 
they do not know what to tell them. The difficulty arises 



CHILDREN. 303 

The senses the avenue. Example. 

from having a standard too high, — striving after something 
new and striking, or possessing peculiar poetic or dramatic 
interest, and forgetting that every thing is new and striking 
to children ; and that consequently there is scarcely any 
thing which can be seen, or heard of, or conceived, which, 
properly expressed in language suited to their powers, will 
not possess a charm. 

But how shall it he expressed in proper language ? For 
having thus attempted to show to those interested in children 
what to tell them, we may perhaps devote a few paragraphs 
to considering the best way in which to tell it. 

(1.) Address the mind of the child through the senses, or 
through those faculties of the mind by which the impressions 
of the senses are recognized or recalled. In other words 
present every thing in such a way that it may convey vivid 
pictures to the mind. The senses are emphatically the great 
avenues to knowledge, in childhood, and it is consequently 
through them, or through images formed by means of them, 
that we can have the easiest access. I can best illustrate 
what I mean by contrasting two modes of telling the same 
story. 

" A man had a fine dog, and he was very fond of him. 
He used to take a great deal of care of him, and to give him 
all he wanted ; and in fact he did all he could to make him 
comfortable, so that he should enjoy a happy life. Thus he 
loved his dog very much, and took great pleasure in seeing 
him comfortable and happy." 

This now presents very few sensible images to the mind 
of the child. In the following form, the narrative would 
convey the same general ideas, but far more distinctly and 
vividly. 

" There was once a man who had a lanre, black and white 



304 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Generalization and abstraction. 

dog beautifully spotted. He made a little house for him out 
in a sunny corner of the yard, and used to give him as much 
meat as he wanted. He would go and see him sometimes, 
and pat his head, while he was lying upon his straw in his 
little house. He loved his dog." 

"No one at all acquainted with children need be told how 
much stronger an interest the latter style of narration would 
excite. And the difference is, in a philosophical point of 
view, that the former is expressed in abstract terms, which 
the mind comes to appreciate fully only after long habits of 
generalization ; in the latter the meaning comes through 
sensible images which the child can picture to himself with 
ease and pleasure, by means of those faculties of the mind, 
whatever they may be, by which the images presented by 
the senses are perceived at first, and afterward renewed 
through the magical stimulus of language. This is the key 
to one of the great secrets of interesting children, and of 
teaching the young generally. Approach their minds through 
the senses. Describe every thing as it presents itself to the 
eye and to the ear. A different course is, indeed, often wise ; 
as for example, when you wish to exercise and develop the 
power of generalization and abstraction, — but generally, 
when your wish is merely to interest, or to convey knowl- 
edge ; that is, where you wish to gain the readiest and most 
complete access to the heart, these are the doors. You use 
others after a time, occasionally, for the sake mainly of having 
them opened and in use. 

The intelligent reader will be able to apply this rule to 
all the classes of subjects mentioned under the preceding 
head, and will see at once how much additional interest may 
be thrown over the conversations and narratives described, 
by following this rule. We might well follow out the prin- 
ciple, and illustrate the application of it to the various stages 



CHILDREN. 305 



of childhood and youth, and the proper limits of it ; for its 
limits must be observed, or else we shall make the pupil the 
helpless dependent upon his senses for life. There is how- 
ever little danger of passing these limits in early years. The 
great difficulty with instructions and addresses to childhood, 
and with the books written for them, is not want of sim- 
plicity, as is commonly supposed, but generality, — abstract- 
ness, — a mode of exhibiting a subject or a train of thought, 
which presents no distinct conceptions to a mind which is 
unaccustomed to any elements of thought which have not 
form or color. So that that which is precise, and striking, 
and clear to the mind of the speaker, is vague, and unde- 
fined, and inappreciable to the unformed minds to which it 
is addressed. 

Persons addressing children, or writing for them, in en- 
deavoring to adapt their mode and style of speaking /to the 
capacity of their auditors, aim sometimes only at a simplifica- 
tion of their language. They use short and easy words, and 
affect great simplicity and childishness in the structure of their 
sentences. A great deal more, however, in such cases, depends 
upon the thought, and upon the aspects in which the thought 
is viewed, than upon the language. But we must pass on. 

(2.) Be exceedingly minute in the details of what you de- 
scribe. Take very short steps, and take each one very dis- 
tinctly. If, for instance, you are narrating to a man, you 
may simply say, if such an incident occurs in the course of 
the narrative, — that your hero " went down to the shore and 
got into a boat and pushed off. " Your hearer has probably 
got into a boat often enough to understand it. But if you 
are talking to a child, he will be more interested if you say, 
" He went down to the shore and found a boat there. One 
end of the boat, the front part, which they call the bows, 
was up against the shore, a little in the sand. The other 
enl was out on the water, and moved "p and down gently 



306 



THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 



Explain minutely. 




THE BOAT. 



with the waves. There 
were seats across the 
boat, and two oars ly- 
ing along upon the 
seats. The man step- 
ped upon the hows of 
the boat. It was fast 
in the sand, so that it 
did not sink under him. 
Then he took up one 
of the oars, and began 
to push against the 
shore to push himself 
off. But as he was 
standing upon the bows 
his weight pressed the 
bows down hard upon 
the sand, and so he could not push the boat off. Then he 
went to the other end of the boat, stepping over the seats. 
The other end of the boat is the stem. The stern sank a 
little, and the boat rocked from one side to the other, and 
made the oar which was on the seats rattle. There was 
nothing but water under the stern of the boat, and that was 
what made it unsteady. The man stepped carefully, and 
when he was fairly in the stern, he reached his oar out 
again, and now he could push it off. The bows rubbed 
slowly back, off of the sand, and in a minute the whole boat 
was floating on the water." 

"We have given this thus minutely, to show what almost 
infinite expansion the most common incidents, which are 
passed over usually by a word, in narratives addressed to 
men, are capable of, when described to children. And it is 
in this minute and particular way that they wish to have 
every thing detailed which they have not become absolutely 



CHILDREN. 307 

The black sand. 



familiar with. In fact, in writing even for the mature, the 
success of the composition depends much upon the degree of 
fidelity with which those most minute circumstances which 
gave to any scene its expression, are described to the mind. 
But in addressing children, this is altogether more necessary. 
For the complicated steps with which long acquaintance with 
the world haA r e familiarized men, so as to make them the 
simple elements of higher combinations, retain with children 
all their original complicatedness, and must be expanded and 
exhibited in minute detail. It would be well, for example, 
when talking of the. sand-box, in addressing men, to say, 
" The sand is black rather than white, that it may corres- 
pond in color with the ink that it covers, and preserve a con- 
trast with the paper." This would not do for a child. " No : 
the icoirls would not be understood," you say. True, but if 
we alter the words it would then not be much better. Thus, 
" It is black rather than white, that it may be like the ink, and 
different from the paper." A boy four or five years old, in 
hearing that, will probably ask why you want the sand dif- 
ferent from the paper, or else pause and reflect, trying to 
take, himself, the intermediate mental steps necessary to a 
full understanding of the explanation. The reason given to 
him in full would be, " Suppose the sand was white, like 
flour, and we pour it on. It would stick on the letters when 
the ink was wet and make them look white. Now the paper 
is white, too, and you would hardly see that there were any 
letters there. But by having the sand black, the letters 
continue to look black after the sand is on them, and of 
course are plainly to be seen on the white paper." This, 
which would be a tedious explanation to a man, even if he 
had never heard of sand, — would be just satisfactory to a 
small boy. 

Thus, every thing should be related and explained minute- 
ly ; and any persons who will pause a little upon this princi- 



308 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Style abrupt. Tones. Gesticulations. 

ciple, and consider it in its application to common subjects, 
and to the common conversation which they hold with chil- 
dren, — will see that every event, every incident, every fact, 
every phenomenon, however common, and every object of 
sight or hearing, is connected with a thousand associations 
and trains of thought, which may thus be expanded, — and 
they will wonder that they could ever be at a loss for ma- 
terials for conversation with the young. 

(3.) Let your style be abrupt and striking, and give the 
reins entirely to the imagination. Aim at the utmost free- 
dom of form and manner, and let your tones and inflections 
be highly varied. The tones expressive of emotion are in- 
stinctive, not acquired ; as is proved by their universal simi- 
larity among all nations, and by the fact that children have 
them in greater, not less perfection than men. The style, 
too, should be abrupt and pointed, and every thing illustrated 
with action. At least, this is one element of interest, to be 
used in a greater or less degree at discretion. We find that 
we are dwelling too much on these details and must hasten 
forward, though this particular topic might well occupy a 
dozen pages. "We will, however, take one example. It 
may be our old story of the man who was kind to his dog. 
We have given two modes of commencing it, the second add- 
ing very much to the interest which the child would take 
in it. But by our present rule of giving abruptness and 
point, and striking transition to the style, we can give it a 
still greater power. Suppose the narrator, with a child on 
each knee, begins thus : 

"A man one pleasant morning was standing upon the 
steps of the door, and he said, ' I think I will go and see my 
dog Towser.' 

" Now, where do you think his dog Towser lived ?" 

" I don't know," will be the reply of each listener, with a 
face full of curiosity and interest. 



CHILDREN. 309 

The man and his dog again. 

" Why old Towser was out in a little square house which 
his master had made for him in a corner of the yard. So he 
took some meat in his hand for Towser's breakfast. Do you 
think he took out a plate, and a knife, and fork ? 

" This man was very kind to Towser; his beautiful, spot- 
ted, black and white Towser ; — and when he got to his 
house he opened the door and said, 

" ' Towser, Towser, — come out here, Towser.' 

" So Towser came running out, and stood there wagging 
his tail. His master patted him on the head. You may 
jump down on your hands and feet, and I will tell you ex- 
actly how it was. You shall be Towser. Here, you may 
get under the table, which will do for his house. Then I 
will come and call you out and pat you on the head ;" 
&c. &c. 

"We go into these minute details with no little hesitation, 
as some of our readers may perhaps consider them beneath 
the dignity of a moral treatise. But when, as we have oc- 
casionally paused, on this account, while penning the pre- 
ceding paragraphs, and hesitated whether it was best to pro- 
ceed, we have thought how many children there are to be 
made happy through these simple principles, — and how many 
mothers there are, and older brothers and sisters, who, never 
having philosophized upon the subject, may be considerably 
aided by these suggestions, obvious as they may be, — and 
how many, many hours of intercourse between parent and 
child, may be changed from times of weariness and tedium, 
to those of profit and pleasure, by a knowledge of these simple 
avenues to the childish heart, — we have taken courage and 
gone on. To know how to make a single child happy for half 
an hour is indeed a little thing ; but the knowledge acquires 
importance and dignity, when we consider how many millions 
of children there are to be affected by it, — and how many 
half-hours in the life of each, may be rescued by these means, 



310 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Third characteristic of childhood. 

from listless uneasiness, and given to improvement and hap- 
piness. Thus the objects though comparatively trifling, 
when regarded in severalty and detail, rise to dignity and 
importance, when we consider their vast aggregation. But 
to return. 

An abrupt and pointed style, and varied modes of illus- 
tration mingled with action, will give spirit and interest, 
even to many moral instructions. But we must not dwell 
on this point ; and we pass on to the third great character- 
istic of childhood. The reader will, we hope, keep in mind 
the plan of our discussion. We are considering some of the 
great characteristics of childhood, preparatory to some prac- 
tical directions for gaining, through them, an access to the 
heart; and having examined, 1. Love of action, and 2. 
Love of acquiring knowledge, we now pass to the third, 
namely, 

3. Affection for those from whom they receive aid and 
sympathy in their desires. Gratitude in the young partakes 
of the general childishness of their character ; and it is not 
perhaps very surprising that it should be most strongly 
awakened by such kindness as they can most sensibly ap- 
preciate. 

In fact the conditions of affection on the part of children 
seem to be two. The first is that the kindness intended to 
awaken it should be on their level, as it were, — that is, that 
it should show itself in favors which they can understand 
and appreciate. If in a case of dangerous sickness an aunt 
comes and watches over the child day after day, and by 
means of this incessant watchfulness and care preserves his 
life, maintaining, however, during his sickness and conva- 
lescence, a cold and reserved look and demeanor, — there will 
be but a slight awakening of gratitude and affection in the 
heart of the patient. He sees his indefatiga ble nurss mov- 



CHILDREN. 311 

Conditions of gratitude. 

ing in a region of thought and feeling which is far away from 
him, and inapproachahle. She does not come near to him, 
and he can not go near to her. Under these circumstances 
it is impossible for him to realize that the unwearied care 
which he sees bestowed upon him can arise from affection 
to him personally. He considers it as a sort of thing of 
course, and it awakens little gratitude or affection. 

This tendency in the heart of a child is in perfect keeping 
with the general laws of human nature in respect to grati- 
tude and love. For these feelings are awakened, not by the 
deeds of kindness which we experience from others, but by 
the feelings of kindness of which we consider the deeds an 
indication. It is a sympathetic action of heart upon heart, 
through actions, or words, or looks, as the medium ; and 
consequently the effect is not in proportion to the greatness 
of the favors, but to the distinctness with which they conduct 
the mind of the receiver to the love which originated them. 
Hence it is, that unless the kindness which you render to 
children is such as they can fully appreciate, it will not 
produce its proper effects ; but if it is such as they can appre- 
ciate, that is, if it is within their sphere, it will produce these 
effects. Many persons are often surprised to see how easily 
some of their acquaintances will gain the affection of children 
and acquire an ascendency over them. But this is the secret 
of it. They come down, — I do not mean in the actions and 
demeanor, but in the nature of the favors which they show 
to them, — to their level. They excite or employ their men- 
tal powers ; they speak a kind word indicating interest in 
their plays or pursuits ; they aid them in their own little 
schemes, or at least regard them with looks and words of 
kindness. These are indications of a feeling of kindness 
which the child can understand ; and as we have before 
seen, it is in proportion to the distinctness with whicli the 



312 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

The way to a child's heart. 

feeling of kindness is perceived in one heart, that gratitude 
and affection are awakened in another. 

The second condition on which the affection and gratitude 
of children is to he secured, is, that the favors which call for 
it should he sincere ; or at least that the child should have 
sufficient evidence of sincerity. A splendid toy, however 
adapted to interest the child, if sent to him by a relative or 
an acquaintance of his parents who really cares little about 
him, will be received with selfish gratification, perhaps, but 
with little gratitude toward the donor. In fact this condi- 
tion stands on the same, foundation with the other. The 
child must see, through the favor bestowed, a feeling of real 
kindness in the one who bestowed it, — for it is this emotion 
in one heart, which, by a kind of sympathy, awakens the 
corresponding emotion in another. The present or the favor 
aids only as the medium by which the inter-communication 
is made, and if the feeling is seen without it, it will produce 
its effects. Thus one person may make the most valuable 
and costly presents to children, and another will produce 
a stronger impression upon their hearts, and awaken a more 
friendly feeling, and connect himself with them by more 
pleasant and permanent associations by the mere maimer in 
which he looks at them, as he passes by, while they are play- 
ing in the street. 

4. The fourth great characteristic of children is their dis- 
position to catch the spirit, and imitate the actions of those 
whom they thus love. Probably this imitative or rather 
sympathetic principle has more influence in the formation 
of early character than any other ; nay, perhaps, than all 
others conjoined. Associations and sympathy have far more 
influence with children than argument or reasoning. Or, 
rather, we might almost say, associations and sympathy have 
all the influence, and argument none at all. How often do 
parents attempt to reason with children in respect to some 



CHILDREN. 313 

Reasoning with children. The baby's name. 

duty or command, by way of facilitating the performance of 
it ; "whereas the effect is directly the reverse. The discussion 
unsettles the subject, and throws a doubt about the duty , 
for all argument of course presupposes a question in respect 
to the subject of it, and therefore almost always makes it 
harder for the child to obey than it was before. Reasoning 
upon the general principles of duty, at proper times, when 
the mind of the pupil is in a state of repose, is highly im- 
portant as a branch of instruction, as will hereafter more 
fully be shown. But after all it has comparatively little 
effect upon the formation of the habits and character. The 
cause of this is that the powers of ratiocination are among 
the last that are developed, — certainly among the last to 
come in for a share in the government of the conduct and 
character. If the reader has the disposition and the skill to 
experiment a little upon childhood in this respect, he will be 
astonished to find how feeble and unformed are the powers 
necessary for perceiving a logical sequence, and how entirely 
a pleasant association will usurp the place and exercise the 
control belonging legitimately to sound deduction. Hence 
the numerous prejudices and prepossessions of childhood, — as 
for instance, the preference for the small silver coin over the 
large bank note ; argument and explanation being often 
entirely insufficient to overcome the associations of value 
connected with the appearance of the former. 

On a question of a name for an infant brother, a boy three 
or four years old expressed and persisted in a preference for 
George over Francis, which last was generally voted for by 
the family. To see how great and unquestioned the control 
of mere association might be, in his mind, I said to him, 

" If his name is Francis, you can by and by, when he 

grows up, say, 'Mother, may I take Francis out to ride?' 

and mother will say, ' Yes.' Then you can take Francis up 

and carry him out and put him in your little wagon, and 





314 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 



The logic of childhood. Power of association. 

take hold of the handle, and then say, ' Francis, are you all 
ready ?' and Francis will say ' Yes.' Then you can draw him 
about a little way, and after a little while bring him back 
and say, ' Here, mother, I have brought Francis back safe.' 
— Do you not think, then, that his name had better be 
Francis ?" 

" Yes, I do," said he, cordially ; convinced and converted 
completely, by this precious specimen of logic. 

Thus the reader will find, on scrutinizing the conduct of 
children, that pleasant associations have more influence in 
determining their preferences and habits, moral, intellectual, 
and physical, than any other cause. The reasoning powers 
ought to be cultivated, and to cultivate them successfully 
children must be led to employ them on the various subjects 
which daily come before them ; but while this process is 
going on, we must take care that the other great avenue to 
the soul, which is opened so early, and which affords so easy 
an access, should be occupied well. 

If, then, in accordance with the previous heads of this dis- 
cussion, you take such an interest in the children around you, 
as to secure their gratitude and love, you have formed in 
their minds strong and pleasant associations with your char- 
acter and conduct and feelings, whatever they may be. You 
will find, consequently, that you will have an immense 
ascendency over them. They will think as you think, and 
feel as you feel. They will catch your expressions, and the 
tone of your voice ; your looks, your attitudes ; your habits 
and peculiarities, good and bad, — the very same things which, 
if they disliked you, they would mimic and ridicule. So that 
he who associates freely with children, and by his sympathy 
and regard for them acquires their love, will leave an impress 
of his own character upon theirs which all the years of after 
life will never remove. This will be more peculiarly the 
case with those higher sentiments and opinions and principles 



CHILDREN. 316 

Common failure. The father. Power of affection. 

of action, which are formed in the more advanced years of 
youth ; — they are caught hy sympathy from the mind and 
heart of some friend whom the pupil loves. Judicious rea- 
soning may help to give permanence to their throne, but its 
foundation is in this sympathetic influence, which argument 
will be utterly insufficient to withstand. In the same man- 
ner bad principles, bad sentiments, and bad feelings, are com- 
municated to the youthful heart, — not mainly by sophistical 
reasonings, nor by formal efforts on the part of the corrupt to 
instruct their pupils in the principles of depravity. False 
reasoning and deliberate attempts to corrupt are undoubtedly 
often employed with fatal effect, but the great prevailing 
principle of the spread of vice is moral contagion ; — the pro- 
duction of a diseased moral state in one, by the proximity of 
its like in another. 

Here is the failure of many parents. They stand aloof 
from their children, occupied by business and cares, or else 
having no sympathy with their peculiar feelings and child- 
like propensities. The heart of the father, therefore, does not 
keep so near to that of the child, that there may be commu- 
nicated to the one the healthy, virtuous action of the other. 
This place of influence is left to be taken possession of by any 
body, — a servant, a neighbor, or a boy in the streets ; and 
the father aims at forming the character of his son by ad- 
dressing to him from time to time, as his occupations may 
give him opportunity, plenty of sound argument and good 
advice ! The boy receives these counsels in silence, and the 
father hopes that they produce an impression. The down- 
ward progress which his heart is making, by his intimacy 
with sin, is not perceived, but at last when he is twenty 
years of age, it can be no longer concealed, and the father 
perceives to his astonishment that all his good instructions 
have been utterly thrown away. It is the ascendency of 
affection, and that founded on such evidences of interest and 



316 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Practical directions. The field. Influence to be sought. 

good-will as the child can himself appreciate, which will 
alone give us any considerable power ; and if we secure the 
affection we shall inevitably wield the power. 

Having thus considered the first general division of this 
chapter according to our plan, we pass to the second 



II. PRACTICAL DIRECTIONS. 

1. It will he well for the reader, if he desires to accom- 
plish as much as he may through his influence over the 
young, to explore the ground first distinctly, that is, to look 
around him, and call to mind the youthful individuals over 
whom he must or can exert an influence. In fact, we should 
often do this in our hours of meditation, when looking over 
~ur plans of usefulness and the manner in which we are 
carrying them forward. By this means we shall keep before 
our minds a distinct idea of the extent and boundaries of our 
field, and preserve a more steady interest in it. A general 
survey like this, of what we have to do, is in all departments 
of duty necessary, in order to give system, and steadiness, and 
thoroughness to our work. 

2. Make it a special object of attention and effort, to gain 
such an influence and ascendency as has been already de- 
scribed, over the minds of the children whom you shall find 
thus within your reach ; the influence of interest and attach- 
ment. Parents often pay too little attention to this. Their 
intercourse with children is only the necessary intercourse of 
command and obedience. A father who devotes some time 
daily to interesting himself in the pursuits and pleasures of 
his children, talking with them, playing with them, or read- 
ing or telling them stories, will gain an ascendency over them 
which, as they grow up, will be found to be immensely power- 
ful. They are bound together by common feelings, and by 
ties of affection and companionship, which have a most con- 
trolling moral influence upon the heart. The duty of acquir- 



CHILDREN. 317 

The parent disappointed. Brothers and sisters. 

ing this ascendency is, however, often neglected. The man, 
overwhelmed with business or burdened with cares, does not' 
descend to the level of the child. He sees that his boys are 
trained up according to rule, confined by proper restraints, 
and supplied with proper instruction ; but no strong ties of 
interest or affection reconcile the little pupil to the restraints, 
or give allurement to the instruction ; and at length, when 
he is passing from twelve to fifteen, or from fifteen to twenty, 
the parent gradually finds, as we have before explained, that 
though all has been to his eye right, his child has been 
in heart and inward character going on in a course totally 
different from the one he intended. The alarmed and disap- 
pointed parent tries to bring back his son, — but he finds, to 
his surprise and sorrow, that he has no hold upon him. 
They are, in heart, strangers to each other. Though they 
have breakfasted, dined, and supped together, for fifteen 
years, they have been in fact strangers to each other all the 
time. They have moved in different circles, — have had 
different pleasures, different pains, different hopes, and differ 
ent fears. The son could not ascend to the region occupied 
by the father, and the father icould not descend to that of the 
son. Thus they have been sundered, and the father finds 
that he has no hold over the heart of his child only when it 
is too late to acquire it. 

But perhaps you are not a parent. You are an older 
brother or sister still, yourself, under your father's roof. If 
now you really wish to do good, your most important sphere 
of duty is that little circle of children who, next to their 
parents, look up to you. In this case it should be your first 
concern to gain an ascendency over their minds ; — an ascend- 
ency based on their regard for your moral worth, and an 
affection inspired by your kindness and interest in them. 

In the same manner, whatever may be your connection 
with children, whether you are their teacher in a common 



318 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Indulgence. Presents. Dicision and firmness. 

or a Sabbath-school, or their father or mother, or their gov- 
erness or guardian, or their neighbor, or their brother or 
sister, — you must first secure their interest and affection, or 
you can do them little good. If they dislike you personally, 
they will instinctively repel the moral influence which you 
may endeavor to exert upon them. If you have no sympathy 
with their childish feelings, you can gain no sympathy in 
their hearts for the sentiments and principles that you may 
endeavor to inculcate upon them. If, however, you can se- 
cure their affection and sympathy, your power over them is 
almost unbounded. They will believe whatever you tell 
them, and adopt the principles and feelings which you ex- 
press, simply because they are yours. They will catch the 
very tone of your voice and expression of your countenance, 
and reflect spontaneously the moral image, whatever it may 
be, which your character may hold up before them. 

3. Never attempt to acquire an ascendency over children 
by improper indulgence. It is one of the mysteries of human 
nature, that indulgence never awakens gratitude or love in 
the heart of a child. The boy or girl who is most yielded to, 
most indulged, is always the most ungrateful, the most self- 
ish, and the most utterly unconcerned about the happiness 
or the suffering of father and mother. Pursue then a straight- 
forward, firm, and decided course ; calm, yet determined , 
kind, yet adhering inflexibly to what is right. This is the 
way to secure affection and respect, whether it be in the in- 
tercourse of parent with child, brother with sister, teacher 
with pupil, general with soldier, or magistrate with citizen. 
Yes, the youngest child, when allowed to conquer, though, 
perhaps, gratified at his success, has sagacity enough to de- 
spise the weakness and want of principle which yielded to 
him. He can not feel either respect or affection. In the same 
manner, you can not depend upon presents. Unreasonable in- 
dulgence and profusion of presents, are the two most common 



CHILDREN. 319 

Tho way to gain an influence. Way to use it. 

modes of endeavoring to buy the good-will of the young. 
But the slightest knowledge of human nature ought to teach 
us that love can not be bought, and if we were without even 
this little knowledge, a few trials would be sufficient, one 
would think, to convince us that these things at least can 
not buy it. Just so far as they are indications of your sym- 
pathy and affection for the child who receives them, so far 
they will tend to win his love in return. But other indica- 
tions of this sympathy and affection on your part will answer 
just as well. Presents alone have far less influence in awa- 
kening the affection and gratitude of children, than kind 
words ; and the most valuable gift, coldly given, will not 
win a boy's heart half so effectually, as sitting down with 
him for a few minutes on the bank, and helping him make 
his whistle. 

4. The ascendency and the influence thus described, being 
once gained over the children with whom you are connected, 
the rest of the work is easy. You have only to exhibit right 
conduct, and exemplify and express right feelings, and they 
will spontaneously imitate the one, and insensibly, but surely, 
imbibe the other. This they will inevitably do, whether the 
expectation of it be a part of your plan or not. Whatever 
principles they see that you habitually cherish, they will 
themselves adopt, and they will catch the language, and tone, 
and manner, and even the very look with which you main- 
tain them. And this, too, whether the principles are good or 
bad. If you are fond of dress, or applause, or admiration, or 
money, the children who hear your conversation, — if they 
love you, — will learn to be fond of them too. If they see 
that you love duty and your Savior, and are living in the 
habitual fear of sin, and in steady efforts to prepare for a fu- 
ture world, — they will feel a stronger influence leading them 
to the same choice, than any other human means can exert. 



320 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Expression of the truth. 

In a word, if they love you, there will be a very strong ten- 
dency in their hearts to vibrate in unison with yours. 

5. But this simple possession of the right feelings and 
principles is not enough. That is, though it will alone ac- 
complish a great deal, it will not alone effect all that may 
be effected. You must distinctly express good sentiments in 
their hearing, as well as exemplify them in your conduct 
In the school-room, on the Sabbath, by the fireside, in your 
walks, take occasion to express what is right. I do not mean 
here to prove it, or explain it, or illustrate it, — I mean, to express 
it. Clothe it in language. Give truth utterance. There is more 
in this than mankind generally suppose. In many cases, when 
an argument on a moral subject is successfully presented to a 
popular audience, the logical force of the argument is not the 
secret of the effect. The work is done by the various enun- 
ciations of the proposition directly or indirectly contained in 
the train of reasoning, — enunciations which produce their 
effect as simple expressions of the truth. There is something 
in man which enables him to seize, as it were, by direct pre- 
hension, what is true, and right, and proper, when it is 
distinctly presented to him. He sees its moral fitness, by a 
sort of direct moral vision ; — he has an appetite for it, as for 
food, which is only to be presented, in order to be received. 

This is specially true of children, for in them, the powers 
of reasoning are not developed, and consequently the suscep- 
tibility of being influenced by reasoning, is smaller in propor- 
tion than with the mature. 

For example, you are walking with a little child, on a 
pleasant morning in the last of February, on the crust of the 
snow, and some little snow-birds hop along before you, pick- 
ing the seeds from the stems of the herbage which the wintry 
storms have not entirely covered. Now the soundest and 
most intelligent argument that you can offer the child in 



CHILDREN". 32 J 

The winter walk and the snow-bird. 

favor of kindness to animals, would not have half as much 
power over its mind as some such soliloquy as this. 



. 





THE s:tow-birds. 



" Oh, see that little bird. Shall I throw my cane at him ? 
Oh, no indeed ! it would hurt him very much, or if it did not 
hit him, it would frighten him very much. I am sure I 
would not hurt that little bird. He is picking up the seeds. 
I am glad he can find those little seeds. They taste very 
sweet to him, I suppose. I wish I had some crumbs of 
bread to give him. Do you think he is cold ? I\o, he is all 
covered with warm feathers ; I do not think he is cold. 
Only his feet are not covered with feathers. I hope they are 
not cold." 

Or if your companion is a boy of ten or twelve years of 
age, you may speak in a different manner, while still you 
utter nothing but a simple expression of your kindness apd 



322 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

The expression of kindness or of cruelty. 

interest, and you will by it awaken kindness and interest in 
him. You say, perhaps, 

" See that snow-bird. Stop, do not let us frighten him. 
Poor little thing ! I should think he would find it hard work 
to get a living in these fields of snow. He is picking the 
seeds out of the tops of last year's plants. Let him have all 
he can find. There is a fine large weed by the side of that 
rock, I wish he could see it. We will move around this 
way, and then perhaps he will hop toward the rock. There 
he goes. He has found it ; now stop and see him feast 
himself." 

Suppose, now, on the other hand, you say, 

" Stop, there's a snow-bird ; stand back a minute and see 
how quick I will knock him down with my cane. If I once 
hit him, I will warrant he will never hop again." 

Now these are all mere expressions of your own feeling, 
and in nine cases out of ten, the child who should listen to 
them, would find his heart gliding spontaneously into the 
same state with your own, whether it were that of kindness 
or cruelty. This mere utterance of the sentiment or feeling 
of your heart, would, except where some peculiar counteract- 
ing causes prevent it, awaken the like in him. Hence, be 
always ready not only to exhibit in your conduct the influ- 
ence of right principle, but to express that principle in lan- 
guage. Many persons imagine that unless they explain, or 
illustrate, or prove the truth, they can have nothing to say. 
But they mistake ; it is the simple expression of it, pleasantly 
and clearly, — as it may be expressed in a thousand various 
ways, and on a thousand different occasions, — which will do 
more than either explanation, illustration, or proof. 

6. But, still, though the former is what produces compara- 
tively the greatest effect, the latter must receive attention 
too. Correct moral principle must not only be exhibited in 
your conduct and expressed in your conversation ; it is also 



CHILDREN. 323 

Formal instruction. Solitude. 

of the utmost importance that it should he, from time to 
time, formally illustrated and proved. The admission of 
moral principle to the minds of the young, and the formation 
of right habits of feeling, may perhaps he most easily received 
at first, by means of these moral sympathies ; but it is only 
in the calm and intelligent conviction of the reason, that 
rectitude can have any firm and lasting foundation for its 
throne. If your habitual conduct does not exhibit, and your 
conversation express right principles, you can never bring 
your children to adopt them by any arguments for their 
truth ; but if your habitual conduct and conversation is 
right, formal and logical instruction is necessary to secure 
permanently, the conquests which these influences will cer- 
tainly make. 

7. One more practical direction remains. It does not 
arise very directly from the general views advanced in this 
chapter, and has in fact, no special connection with them. 
It relates also more particularly to the duty of parents ; but 
it is so fundamentally important that it ought to be appended 
here. It is, keep children as much as possible by themselves, 
— away from evil influences, — separate, — alone. Keep them 
from bad company, is very common advice. We may go 
much farther, and almost say, keep them from company, good 
or bad. Of course, this is to be understood with proper 
limits and restrictions ; for to a certain extent associating 
with others is of high advantage to them, both intellectually 
and morally. But this extent is almost universally far ex- 
ceeded, and it will be generally found that the most virtuous 
and the most intellectual, are those who have been brought 
up most by themselves and alone. 

In fact, all history and experience shows, and it is rather a 
iark sign in respect to poor human nature, that the mut.ial 
influence of man upon man is an influence of deterioration 
md corruption. Where men congregate in masses, there 



32-4 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 



depravity thrives, and they can keep near to innocence only 
by being remote from one another. Thus densely populated 
cities are always most immoral ; an army, a ship, a factory, 
a crowded prison, and great gangs of laborers working in 
common, always exhibit peculiar tendencies to vice. So 
with the young. Boys learn more evil than good of their 
playmates at school ; a college student who is regular, quiet 
and docile at home in his vacations, is often wild, dissipated, 
idle and insubordinate in term-time at college ; and how 
often has the mother found that either one of two trouble- 
some children, appears subdued and softened and dutiful 
when the other is away. It seems as if human nature can 
be safe only in a state of segregation ; in a mass, it runs at 
once to corruption and ruin. 

So far, then, as promiscuous intercommunication among 
the children of a town or a neighborhood is impeded, so far, 
within proper restrictions, will the moral welfare of the 
whole be advanced. The principle of few companions and 
fewer intimacies, and many hours of solitary occupation and 
enjoyment, will lead to the development of the highest 
intellectual and moral traits of character ; in fact his men- 
tal resources may be considered as entirely unknown and un- 
explored, who can not spend his best and happiest hours alone. 

It is often said that the young must be exposed to the 
temptations and bad influences of the world, in order to 
know what they are by experience, and* learn how to resist 
them. " They must be exposed to them," say these advo- 
cates of early temptation, " at some time or other, and they 
may as well begin in season, so as to get the mastery over them 
the sooner." But this is not so. The exposure, if avoided 
in youth, is avoided principally forever. A virtuous man in 
any honest pursuit of life comes very little into contact or 
connection with vice. He sees and hears more or less of it, 
it is true, every day, but his virtuous habits and associates 



CHILDREN. 325 

Learning bj- experience. Recapitulation. 

and principles are such, that it is kept, as it were, at a sort 
of moral distance from him. It does not possess that power 
of contamination which a corrupt school-boy exercises over 
his comparatively innocent companion. A vast proportion 
of the vicious and immoral are made so before they are of 
age, and accordingly, he who goes on safely through the 
years of his minority will generally go safely for the rest of 
the way. 

It is not best therefore to expose children to temptation 
while they are young, in order to accustom them to the ex- 
posure. Keep them away from it as much and as long as 
possible. Preserve them from every occasion of contamina- 
tion, and keep the atmosphere around them pure as long as 
they remain under your care. Their future safety will be 
far better secured by this course, than by any other. 

The principles which we have been inculcating in this 
chapter, may, then, in conclusion, be summed up thus. 

Children are eager to exercise continually their opening 
faculties, and to learn all they can about the world into 
which they are ushered. Those who aid and sympathize 
with them in these, their childlike feelings, they will love, 
and their principles and conduct they will adopt and 
imitate. 

This being so, we have, by rendering them this aid and 
sympathy, an easy way of gaining over them a powerful 
ascendency. This once gained, we must exemplify in our 
conduct, and express in our daily conversation, and enforce 
by formal instructions the principles which we wish them to 
imbibe, and they will readily imbibe them. Then, to make 
our work sure, we must shelter their tender minds from those 
rude blasts of moral exposure which howl everywhere in this 
wilderness of sin. Any Christian who will act faithfully on 
these principles toward the children who are within his 



326 THE WAT TO DO GOOD. 



reach, will probably save many of them from vice and 
misery, and he will certainly elevate the temporal virtue and 
happiness of them all. And if he acts in these duties as the 
humble, but devoted follower of Jesus Christ, — sincere, un- 
affected, honest and childlike himself, — there are no labors 
in which he can engage for which he may with greater con- 
fidence invoke the interposition of the Holy Spirit, to bless 
them to the salvation of souls. 



INSTRUCTION. 327 



Plan of the chapter. 



CHAPTER X. 

INSTRUCTION. 
" Apt to teach, patient." 

It might perhaps have been expected by the reader, that 
the subject of religious instruction of the young would have 
formed a subordinate topic of the last chapter, but it is so 
extensive and important in its bearings, that it seemed better 
to give it a more full discussion, and to confine that chapter 
simply to the character of early childhood, and to the mode 
of gaining an ascendency over it. Besides, it is not merely 
to the young that the principles to be elucidated now, will 
apply. It is the whole question of approaching the human 
intellect with religious truth, that we shall here consider, 
whether the subjects be old or young, — a class in the Sab- 
bath-school, or a circle of children around the fireside on a 
winter evening, or a younger sister listening to the conversa- 
tion of an older one while walking in the fields ; — and even 
the pastor will find these principles and methods, such as in 
spirit guide him in his course of instruction to the adult 
congregation, which he leads forward from week to week in 
religious knowledge. 

The following propositions exhibit the view which we 
shall take of the subject in this chapter. 

1. Our success depends upon the fullness and force with 
which the details of truth and duty are presented, and not 



328 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Five propositions. Mode of divine instruction. 

upon the scientific accuracy with which they are condensed 
into systems of theology. 



2. The Bihle must he resorted to as the great storehouse 
of moral and religious truth. 

3. The field of observation and experience must be ex- 
plored, for the means of applying and enforcing it. 

4. Its hold upon the soul is to he secured mainly by wa- 
kening up a testimony in its favor from within. 

5. Attempts to remove error by argument and personal 
controversy, are almost always in vain. 

These propositions we proceed to consider in their order. 

1. Our success depends upon the fullness and force with 
which the details of truth and duty are presented, and not 
upon the scientific accuracy with which they are condensed 
into systems of theology. 

We are in the first place struck, when we look at this 
subject, at a very remarkable difference between the mode 
which God has taken to instruct mankind in religious truth 
and duty, — and that which, in modern times, we almost 
spontaneously fall upon. His mode and order of instruction 
are totally different from ours : I mean are totally different 
in one respect. He exhibits the principles of truth and duty, 
one by one, as they occur in connection with the ordinary 
incidents and events of life. We give them in the order of 
a well-digested and logical system, in fact we may almos?. 
say that we teach the system rather than the truths them- 
selves by whose arrangement the system is constituted. G od'a 



INSTRUCTION. 329 

Our methods. The contrast. Reason for it. 

first lesson to the human race was the first five books of 
Moses ; — the simple story of the Patriarchs and of the children 
of Israel, and the institution of the moral and ceremonial law. 
Our first lesson would very likely have been an abridged, 
systematized, severe treatise, on the science of moral and 
religious philosophy. He simply tells the story of Cain and 
Abel. "We, perhaps, should have given a disquisition on the 
nature of murder ; proved that human life is sacred, and 
analyzed malice. He narrates the history of Abraham, per- 
haps not using the word faith at all, and certainly not mak- 
ing a single remark concerning its nature, from one end of 
the story to the other. We discuss the theory of faith, sepa- 
rate its essence, — point out all the distinctions in its varieties, 
— some real, others imaginary. Religious duty, as he pre- 
sents it, is a living and active reality, moving about among 
men, developing its character by its conduct. In our hands, 
it lies upon a table, — as some writer has justly said, and we 
are demonstrating, by means of the scalpel and forceps, its 
inward structure. The dissection is most ingenious and 
skillful, and the demonstration, though sometimes lost in 
minute details, is still very scientific and complete ; but then 
the poor subject is often murdered and mutilated under the 
operation. 

And yet we ought scarcely to say that, for we do not mean 
to condemn altogether the tendency to analysis and system- 
making, so prevalent in modern days. Times have changed ; 
the human mind has altered ; not, indeed, in its native 
characteristics, but in its habits and modes of thought ; — 
and instruction now has somewhat different objects, and 
must pursue somewhat different means, when addressed to 
individual infancy, by one of us, from those adopted, when, 
three thousand years ago, it was addressed by Jehovah to 
the infancy of the human race. W r e do not, therefore, com- 
pare the two methods in order to condemn, altogether, ours. 



330 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Illustration. Botany. The two students. 

We wish to look at both, fox we may learn a good deal from 
either ; and especially as it is undoubtedly true that in our 
efforts with the young, and, in fact, with the mass of man- 
kind, it will be best for us to incline strongly to the example 
which God has set us in his own communications. 

The two methods of instruction have different advantages. 
One addresses itself to the thinking and reasoning powers ; — 
the other more directly to the conscience. One reaches the 
intellect. The other touches the heart. Both are good, 
each for its own ends. 

But a word or two more before we proceed, in respect to 
the nature of the difference above referred to. We can illus- 
trate it by describing the modes by which two individuals 
may pursue the study of botany. One takes books of scien- 
tific arrangement, and begins with classes, and orders, and 
genera, and looks upon the whole vegetable kingdom as a 
scientific system. He goes into the field to collect specimens, 
simply as partial illustrations of the great artificial edifice 
which the labors of the botanist have gradually formed. 
The system, the arrangement, the classification, is all in all 
to him, — the observed facts are only subsidiary and illustra- 
tive. It was not so with the botanists themselves, when 
they formed the system. The observed facts were the fore- 
most with them, and stood out prominent in their concep- 
tions of the vegetable world. The system, the arrangement 
came last, and was subsidiary and illustrative in respect to 
the facts. But our student has reversed this process. He 
begins where the botanists end, and works back to where 
they began. Because he is studying their works, he imagines 
that he is treading in their footsteps. And so he is, but he 
is retracing them. The track of his foot is reversed upon 
theirs all the way. He looks in the opposite direction ; he 
begins where they ended, though he seldom gets to where 
they began 



INSTRUCTION. 331 



The thistle. The rose. 

Our other pupil now 

takes a different course. ________ 

He goes out into the "S?~"' r - - "^ 

field looking for plants, - -^ 

and he first sees, we 3BK*^fk - |§| 
will suppose, along un- %: , 

.' 1 ■'■:: i ■ ,■■•■ • :.'.::;1 1: ; " V '>"":- 

the road-side, a profu- : 

sion of thistles. He diuj: 
examines the structure 
of this individual plant, 
notices the leaf, the 
flower, the seed. By- 
means of hooks, or 
through his teacher, he _■■.'-■■;-. ■■•■■.-■ 

learns to what degree THE botanist. 

the plant is extended 

over the earth, that is, what portion of the earth it occupies ; 
— whether it is spreading still, and if so, where and how : 
whether it is useful for any purposes, — or injurious; and 
what methods are in use by agriculturists for its extermina- 
tion. So he examines minutely its structure ; its leaves, its 
flower, its seed, — and studies its habits. In a word, he be- 
comes thoroughly acquainted with this one plant, a plant 
that is all around him, which he sees every day, and is very 
often made, in his hearing, a subject of remark or conversa- 
tion. While he has been doing this, the pupil who began 
at the other end has, perhaps, nearly finished committing to 
memory the names of the Linnrean classes. 

Our second pupil, however, having mastered the thistle, 
takes next perhaps the rose, or some other common plant, 
and after having studied it thoroughly in its individuality, 
as he did the thistle, the teacher calls his attention to the 
points of resemblance, in resoect to structure, which it may 



332 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 



System. 



bear to the thistle. Here now is his beginning of system 
and arrangement. Connecting together by observed simi- 
larities, and discriminating by observed differences, the 
objects with which, individually, he has become fully ac- 
quainted. This is beginning at the right end. This is really 
following on in the footsteps of the botanists, his masters. 
As he proceeds he arranges and classifies his knowledge, just 
as fast as he acquires it. System is thus the handmaid and 
preserver of knowledge, as she ought to be, and not the mere 
substitute for it. He builds up in his own mind the edifice 
of scientific system, just as fast as the substantial materials 
are furnished him ; and comes out at the end, as the great 
masters did before him, with that magnificent temple of 
science, which, like all other substantial edifices, must be 
built from bottom to top, and not from top to bottom. 

To make this case clear and distinct, I have represented 
the two modes, each pure in its kind, the extreme cases on 
the two plans. In point of fact, however, there is ordinarily 
some mixture of the two, or rather an adoption in general 
of the one course, with some tendency toward the other. In 
fact, intelligent teachers who may read this chapter, will 
probably perceive that the principle of the latter mode, 
though really most philosophical in its nature, ought not, for 
the common purposes of instruction, to be pressed too far. 
The results arrived at by the original investigators of the 
science may aid the pupil very much in his efforts to follow 
them : and the system, and the principles of arrangement, 
might very advantageously be explained in general, and 
carried along with him, as he goes on. Many teachers have 
erred in carrying the principle which I have been endeavor- 
ing to illustrate, to extremes : in the mathematics, for ex- 
ample, and in the natural sciences. They have thus, some- 
times pressed the plan of making the pupils pursue this 
natural course of induction so far as to deprive them of the 



INSTRUCTION. 33a 

Nature and use of science and system. The theologians. 

aid of those who have preceded them. In fact, carrying out 
the principle to its full extent, would almost make every 
pupil an independent investigator and discoverer, — whereas 
a life would not suffice for the most common attainments, in 
any one science, in this way. The true principle seems to 
be to lead the pupil over the ground in the natural track, 
acquiring knowledge first in detail, and arranging and classi- 
fying it as he proceeds. The worth and utility of what he 
learns, will depend upon the fullness, and freshness, and 
vitality of his individual acquisitions, and scientific system 
should he gradually developed as the apartments of it can he 
occupied. The building is beautiful in itself, it is true, but 
it is valuable chiefly as a means of securing and preserving 
from derangement and loss, the valuables which it contains. 

And now to apply these considerations to the subject before 
us. Three thousand years ago, Jehovah began to communi- 
cate by slow and simple steps, moral and religious truth, and 
instruction in moral and religious duty, to man. He brought 
forward these truths, not in the order of scientific system, but 
in that of commonness, — every-day importance, — moral prox- 
imity. It is the thistle first, and then the rose. These revela- 
tions were slowly continued for many centuries. The pro- 
foundest intellects, and the purest moral sensibilities, have 
been in all ages of the world employed upon these truths, — 
examining and arranging them, and observing and noting the 
points of resemblance or of diversity. They have examined 
them synthetically and analytically ; they have made nice 
distinctions, dissecting out truth into all its ramifications, and 
they have explored things most diverse and distinct in appear- 
ance, and traced them to a common origin. These intellec- 
tual processes have been going on for ages, and we have now 
before us, as the result, the same truth, indeed, which the 
prophets and the apostles taught, but arranged and 
and formed into a scientific system. 



334 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Province and value of theological science. 

Let now the reader not suppose that we mean to condemn, 
this. Not at all. If any thing is plain, it is that God in- 
tended that the minds of men should exercise themselves 
strongly and continually upon what he has revealed. The 
field of moral and religious truth, as his Word and the uni- 
versal dictates of conscience lay it open, affords the finest 
scope for the exercise of the highest human powers ; and the 
nature of the case, and especially the very condition in Avhich 
the close of his revelation has left the whole ground, shows 
plainly that he intended that we should explore and cultivate 
it. The ohject of these remarks is not at all to condemn 
theological science, hut only to point out the facts in the case, 
with reference to their influence upon the course which we 
ought to pursue, in endeavoring to initiate the young in re- 
ligious knowledge. The great mass of religious and moral 
truth, which the Bihle and the human conscience "bring he- 
fore the mind, in slow detail and minute applications, ha§ 
been, hy the patient theological labor and acumen cf many 
centuries, at last elaborated into scientific systems. Now wc 
must not, in guiding the young, commence with the science 
and the system, and work hack to the elements ; we must 
go round back to the beginning, and give them truth and 
explain to them duty, substantially in the order and manner 
in which God has done it, and come to the science and the 
system at last. We shall explain more particularly how 
this is to be done, as we proceed. But this general view of 
the subject, if properly appreciated, will at once throw open 
a very wide field of religious instruction, and make the work 
comparatively easy. Persons very often feel timid and con 
strained in their efforts at instruction in the Bible-class, or 
Sabbath-school, or even with their own children at home, 
because they feel that their own attainments are not of a 
sufficiently logical and systematic character. They know 
vastly more than their pupils, they admit, but they are not 



INSTRUCTION. 335 



Systematic education. 



Bcholars enough to teach what they know. Their own edu- 
cation has not heen regular and systematic enough, they 
imagine. That is, they have not gone through the whole 
theological course, and come out with that complete system 
of truth, by which, as by a framework, they imagine that 
all subordinate teaching should be regulated. But this is not 
the work to be done. Your simple business is to look at 
once around you, and take any thing that is moral or reli- 
gious truth, and explain, and expand, and exhibit it in its sim- 
plicity, and in its individuality, to the minds of the young. 
It is no matter whether your knowledge exists in the form of 
systematized theology or not. In either case, your business 
is to bring before your pupils the elements, as individual ele- 
ments, in all their freshness and particularity and their end- 
less application to the circumstances and wants of common 
life. The science which you feel the need of, though it 
would be of immense value to you, as a means of giving 
clearness to your conceptions, and vigor and confidence to all 
your mental operations, is not, after all, what you want to 
present, as such, to the minds of children. Teach them 
all the details of truth and duty, and in any order. Study 
and present the principles of piety in their ordinary applica- 
tions to the circumstances of life. Dwell on what is obvious, 
important, and of every-day utility, rather than on what is 
metaphysical, or far-fetched, or refined, and thus store the 
minds of your pupils with the materials which their riper 
studies may classify and arrange. This is the wisest course 
for them, whether they form a Bible-class of youth, or a 
crowded congregation of adults, or a little circle of children 
at the fireside. 

2. The Bible must be resorted to, as the great storehouse 
of moral and religious truth. 



336 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

The Bible the storehouse. Korah- 

The doctrinal anil preceptive portions of the Bible deserve 
a prominent place, undoubtedly, as the source from which re- 
ligious instruction is to be drawn, but perhaps they ought 
not to occupy a share of attention so nearly exclusive, as they 
often do. The narratives of the Old Testament, and of the 
New, are full of materials, if read and explained with a view 
to bringing out their moral expression. The Bible may be 
studied, in fact, with many totally different objects and aims, 
each of which is valuable in its place. We may carry a 
class rapidly over the books of Kings and Chronicles, for ex- 
ample, with a view to obtaining a general knowledge of their 
literary contents ; and by collating them, and comparing pas- 
sage with passage, reduce to system, and to a clear, connected 
view, their chronological and historical details. This now 
would be totally different from taking up in detail the several 
narratives which these books contain, for the purpose of bring- 
ing out to view the moral lessons which each one was intend- 
ed to teach. Now it is this latter mode that I refer to 
here. The Scriptures are an inexhaustible storehouse from 
which moral truth may be drawn in every form of its 
development, and in all the innumerable varieties of its ap- 
plication. 

Let us take a case at random, to illustrate how full the 
narratives of the Scriptures are of moral truth, which needs 
only to be brought out to view, in order strongly to interest 
and to benefit the young. We will take Korah's mutiny, 
for example. We select this case, because it is one of those 
narratives which, on account of the terrible catastrophe in 
which it ended, is generally somewhat known to children, 
and therefore it is the more suitable to our purpose of show- 
ing how much may be brought out to view by a little atten- 
tion, which otherwise would be passed by unnoticed and 
unknown. 

The teacher in his class, or the parent at his fireside, or 



INSTRUCTION. 337 



Koran's mutiny. The parties. Their designs. 

even the minister in his pulpit, opens the subject with iha 
first verse of the passage, thus : 

" Ebw Korah, the son of Kohath, the son of Levi, and Dathan and 
Abiraro, the sons of Eliab, and On the son of Peleth, sons of Reuben, 
took men ; And they rose up before Moses, -with certain of the children 
of Israel, two hundred and fifty princes of the assembly, famous in the 
congregation, men of renown." 

Now, in order to have the moral bearings of the narrative 
clearly appreciated, the first thing is to consider distinctly 
the several parties in the transaction ; — Korah, one of the 
Levites, and Dathan and Abiram, and On, of the people, 
with their respective adherents. In all such cases, we must 
observe, first, who are the persons brought upon the stage of 
action, and what their situation and characters are, so as to 
appreciate their words and actions, and to observe whether 
they are in keeping with their respective circumstances. In 
order to do this, in this case, we must recall to mind the ar- 
rangement which God had made with the Israelites in the 
wilderness. Aaron was the priest, holding the highest ec- 
clesiastical dignity. The family of Levi came next, and the 
duties connected with all the ordinary services of worship 
devolved upon them. The people generally were, of course, 
devoted to other occupations. If the pupils now distinctly 
conceive of the vast assembly encamping in the wilderness, 
Moses, the military commander, Aaron holding the supreme 
sacerdotal dignity, and the Levite Korah, uniting with the 
princes Dathan, Abiram, and On, in a mutiny, they will be 
prepared to understand what follows. 

"And they gathered themselves together against Moses, and against 
Aaron, and said unto them, Ye take too much upon you, seeing all the 
congregation are holy, every-one of them, and the Lord is among 
them ; wherefore then, lift ye up yourselves above the congregation of 
the Lord ?" 

P 



S38 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Conversation with Korah. A coincidence. 

Now, how much of human nature is to be seen in this ad- 
dress, when we come to examine it. The real feeling in 
the mind of the speaker was, " I can not bear to be second. 
I mean to stand as high in official dignity as Aaron." Am- 
bition, pride, a spirit of insubmission to God, was the stim- 
ulus. But how is the direct expression of it withheld, 
or rather covered up and concealed, under an accusation 
against Moses and Aaron, and a pretended vindication of the 
rights of the mass of the people, the universal pretext of the 
spirit of disorganization and rebellion in every age. " You 
take too much upon you ;" — when they were themselves go- 
ing to take, and that by usurpation, the very same thing. 
And, " all the congregation are holy." They did not mean 
morally pure, by this, but ceremonially competent in the eye 
of God, to offer worship for themselves. This was said just 
as similar things are said now, to gain partisans. The aspir- 
ing demagogue, in order to carry on his schemes, always 
flatters the great mass which he wishes to move, telling them 
that they deserve an equality with the government which he 
wishes them to help him overthrow. 

Observe, now, an apparently undesigned, but very inter- 
esting coincidence which testifies strongly to the truth and 
faithfulness of the narrath r e. "Who was the speaker hi this 
case ? There were two parties in the rebellion, Korah, the 
Levite, on the one hand, and Dathan, Abiram, and On from 
the people, on the other. Now, which was the speaker in 
this case ? The narrative does not tell its directly, but the 
speech itself betrays the feelings of the Levite. " Ye take 
too much upon you, for all the people are holy ;" referring 
evidently to the ecclesiastical aspects of the arrangement 
which they opposed. The reply of Moses corresponds. He 
spake unto Korah and all his company ; and below, we find 
that the lay leaders, as we may perhaps call them, were not 
present. 



INSTRUCTION. 339 



Dathan and Abiram. Their reply. 

How appropriate, now, is the reply of Moses to Korali and 
his adherents, — how exactly what it ought to he in such a 
case, to set in a clear light their ingratitude and wickedness. 
After proposing a test hy which he was on the morrow to 
suhmit the question to the decision of God himself, he re- 
minds them of the high station to which they had heen as- 
signed, and of the ingratitude and criminal ambition of aspir- 
ing to a higher one. 

" Seemeth it but a small thing unto you, that the God of Israel hath 
separated you from the congregation of Israel, to bring you near to 
himself, to do the service of the tabernacle of the Lord, and to stand be- 
fore the congregation to minister unto them ? And he hath brought 
thee near to him, and all thy brethren, the sons of Levi -with thee ; and 
seek ye the priesthood also I" 

His reply thus, is not at all a reply to what Korah had 
said. Moses disregards his speech entirely, and comes at 
once to his feelings, — to the real source of the difficulty, in 
the pride and ambition in his heart. 

Then he sent to call Dathan and Abiram. They would 
not come, but sent a disrespectful message, — one, however, 
entirely different, in respect to the grounds of the complaint, 
from the speech of Korah, and in exact keeping with the 
characters of the men. Korah's pretense was the natural 
one coming from an ambitious priest. That of Dathan and 
Abiram was just as natural from a discontented and rebel- 
lious people. 

" Is it a small thing that thou hast brought us up out of a land 
that floweth with milk and honey, to kill us in the 'wilderness, except 
thou make thyself altogether a prince over us ? Moreover, thou hast 
not brought us into a land that floweth with milk and honey, t>r given 
us inheritance of fields and vineyards ; wilt thou put out the eyes of 
these men ? We will not come up." 

We will not go on any farther with the narrative But 



340 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Various questions. 

the following questions, most of which, even the youngest 
child, who had once read and appreciated the story, would 
readily answer, shows how much moral truth such a narra 
tive, when fully appreciated, may be the means of developing 
in the mind. 

What did the sin of these men chiefly consist in, — the 
feelings, or the words, or the actions ? 

Did Korah commit any wicked act ? Did Dathan and 
Abiram ? 

Did they not all commit sin in feeling ? 

What is the name for the kind of feelings they had ? A 
rebellious spirit. 

Do children ever feel a rebellious spirit ? Against whom ? 

Do they ever feel the rebellious spirit when they do not 
manifest it in actions ? When they do not express it in 
words ? 

What reasons are there that prevent their expressing or 
acting it, when they have the feeling ? 

Can a rebellious spirit be expressed by looks as well as by 
actions ? Do children ever express it so ? By what sort of 
looks ? 

Is the rebellious spirit a pleasant or a painful feeling ? 
Were Korah, Dathan, and Abiram happy probably, while 
rebelling ? Would they have been happy if they had suc- 
ceeded in what they wished to do ? 

The proposing of questions like these, might be the best 
way of bringing out the truth contained in the narrative, or 
suggested by it, if the pupils are children, whether they are 
gathered in numbers around their teacher at the Sabbath 
school, or sit upon their father's knees, to look over while he 
reads the story from the great family Bible, at the chimney 
corner. If the audience is mature, the .same points would 



INSTRUCTION. 341 

Moral lessons to be deduced. 

be brought to view, — the same moral analysis of the story, 
though the results would receive an expression in language 
in a somewhat different manner. The questions which we 
have given above, have by no means exhausted the subject. 
There are many other moral instructions to be deduced from 
the narrative. Moses, for example, in verse 11, considers the 
rebellion as against the Lord. This naturally leads the 
mind to the consideration, that Moses and Aaron, being ap- 
pointed by God, were clothed with his authority, and that 
opposition against them was rebellion against him. This, 
properly illustrated and explained, will set in a very striking 
light before children, why a rebellious spirit against their 
parents, even if shown only by looks, or not expressed out- 
wardly at all, is a sin, not merely against their parents, but 
against God. Then there is the subject of punishment, too ; 
the evil and the danger resulting from such conduct making 
punishment of it necessary, and the great guilt of it, making 
a severe punishment of it just ; and so with a great many 
other subjects of inquiry and reflection, so numerous and full, 
that the space allotted to this whole chapter would scarcely 
afford room for a brief enumeration of them. 

It is not that such a passage directly teaches all these 
truths, or that they can be logically deduced from them, — 
nor that they merely suggest them as principles to be 
proved. The narrative calls up the principles to the mind, 
as principles intuitively perceived to be true. They are to 
be expressed by the voice of the teacher, knowing that the 
expression of them will be re-echoed and confirmed to the 
pupil, by a voice within. There are indeed moral and 
religious truths which must be proved, but we do not speak 
of them here. We speak now of a thousand principles of 
right and wrong that are brought to view in the narratives 
of the Scriptures; and which need no proof. Apprehension 
of them is conviction. Some are found by the mind in the 



342 THE WAY TO DO GOOE. 

Two kinds of interest in a story. 

narrative, others, the narrative draws forth out of the mind. 
So that in. some respects the story is the storehouse which 
the mind explores for moral treasures ; in others, the store- 
house is the mind, and the book the instrument of admis- 
sion. 

We have taken this single case, and dwelt upon it to show 
how minutely and fully the individual passages of Scripture 
should be explored as mines of moral and religious truth. 
I need not say that the whole Bible, examined thus, would 
furnish an inexhaustible store. 

All persons, both old and young, will take a far greater 
interest in the moral aspects and bearings of the Scripture 
histories, than they do in the mere incidents of the narra- 
tive ; or rather the incidents of the narrative itself will 
excite interest just in proportion as the moral meaning is 
seen through them. Teachers of the young often overlook 
this, — they bring Scripture narrative before their pupils, sim- 
ply as a history of occurrences, and a great portion of the 
force and point and beauty lying beneath the surface, is not 
seen. 

For example take the story of Job. We may present it 
in two totally different ways to a class of little children. 
Suppose, for the first experiment, that we gather the little 
pupils around us, and read them the account of Job's pros- 
perity, accompanying it with familiar explanations. We 
tell them how many sheep, and oxen, and camels he had, 
and help them to picture to their minds some idea of his 
mode of life, and of the appearance of his vast herds and 
numerous household. They are highly interested, Their 
curiosity and imagination and wonder are strongly excited. 
Then you read to them the account of his successive losses. 
You describe the incursions of the enemy, and the effects of 
the lightning, and bring home clearly to the minds of the 
pupils the terrific scenes alluded to in the description. The 



INSTRUCTION. 343 



Example. Patience and submission. 

children are all intensely interested in it, as in a dreadful 
tragedy. At the close, perhaps, you say that Job did not 
repine against God, notwithstanding all these calamities ; — 
that he was patient and submissive, and we ought all to fol- 
low his example. 

Thus the interest awakened in the minds of the children, 
is an interest in the story, as a narration of wonderful inci- 
dents. The moral bearing of it, is but slightly alluded to, 
and the whole impression made by it, is an impression upon 
the imagination, and not upon the heart. 

We turn now to the opposite course, namely, passing 
lightly over the incidents, and bringing out fully to view the 
moral meaning of the story. With the same or a similar 
little auditory around you, you begin by telling them of 
Job's vast possessions, in general terms, and then saying 
that God determined to take them all away, in order to try 
him, and see whether he would bear it submissively and 
patiently. 

"Do you know what submissively and patiently means?" 

"Yes, sir." " No, sir." 

" Why, suppose one of you should have a beautiful pic- 
ture-book, and when you were sitting down by the fire to 
read it, your mother would say, ' Come, I must put that 
book away now ; I want you to go to bed ;' what do you 
think you should do or say ?" 

A pause. 

" Perhaps you do not know exactly what you would do cr 
say, but you may tell me what a bad child might do or say, 
in such a case. Any one may tell me." 

"He might begin to cry." — "He might say, 'I want to 
sit up a little longer, very much.' " — " He might say, ' I 
won't.' " 

" Yes, and a boy who was patient and submissive would 
chut up the book pleasantly, and bring it to his mother, and 



344 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Job. The dramatic interest. The moral interest, 

say, ' Very well.' Now, do you all understand what patient 
and submissive means." 

" Yes, sir." 

" Well, then, we will go on with the story of Job. God 
took away all his property, to try him, and see whether he 
would be patient and submissive, or not. He wished to see 
what he would say." 

Then read and explain the accounts of the calamities by 
which Job was reduced to poverty and wretchedness, in 
such a way as to awaken their sympathy for him, and their 
curiosity in respect to its effect upon his mind. 

" Thus," you say in conclusion, " all his flocks and herds 
were carried away, and his children were killed, and hi3 
servants taken captive or destroyed — ," 

" All excepting the men who escaped to tell him." 

" Yes, they were saved, it is true. Now, what do you 
think Job said ? — do you know ?" 

" No, sir." 

" It was something very remarkable. It showed at once, 
whether he was patient and submissive, or not. It was 
something very remarkable, indeed. People have repeated 
it a great many times since, when they have lost something 
which they valued very much. It was this, 

" ' The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away : 
blessed be the name of the Lord.' " 

A pause. 

" It was just as if the child whose mother had taken away 
his beautiful book, should say, as he was going up stairs with 
the candle in his hand ; " My mother gave me the book, and 
my mother has taken it away, I will not complain of my 
mother.' — Should you not think that would be a patient and 
submissive boy?" 

Now, in this case, it is plain that the great effort has been 



INSTRUCTION, 345 

Both combined. Third general head. Observation. 



to bring out the moral expression of the story, so that children 
can see and appreciate it. But we have not detailed these 
two modes of explaining the same story, to condemn the for- 
mer ; but only to show how completely distinct in its nature, 
an interest in the moral bearing of a narrative is from an 
interest in the incidents, considered simply as a story. Both 
these kinds of interest ought to be awakened ; but the latter 
especially, by all means. For it is the latter alone which 
can give to the study of the Bible any influence on the 
affections of the soul. 

Thus the Bible is the great magazine to be explored. 
And it is to be explored in this way, so as to bring out to 
view the moral and religious truth taught in every page of it. 
Excite in your pupils as strong a dramatic interest in the 
narrative as you can, but let all this interest be concentrated 
upon the moral principles of which the narrative is intendod 
to be an expression. 

3. The field of observation and experience is to be ex- 
plored for the means of enforcing and applying religious truth 
in the most effectual manner. 

The habit of observing and analyzing human conduct and 
character, and reflecting upon it, is absolutely necessary to 
enable us to command the avenues to the heart. We must 
be in the habit of noting the most common occurrences, and 
of tracing them back to the springs of action from which they 
rise. Observe the moral truths which they will illustrate, or 
the moral principles they exemplify, and reflect upon them 
in this light in your hours of meditation. There is a vast 
diversity in different minds in this respect, produced by habit 
or by different degrees of intellectual culture. One, in look- 
ing upon the scenes of daily life which are exhibited before 
him, perceives only what comes to the eye or the ear. Ao 
p* 



346 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Effect of a hcbit of observation. 

other traces back the most common occurrences to their 
origin; and the exercise, which was perhaps at first a study, 
becomes ere long a habit, and at length the whole panorama 
of life seems, to such a mind, alive with the expression of 
those moral principles and laws of which it is, in fact, the 
acting out, though not seen to be so by the common observer. 
The ordinary exhibitions of human action, though opaque and 
tame and spiritless' to others, N are bright and transparent to 
him. He sees a spiritual world through the external one, 
and the spectacle which thus exhibits itself all around him is 
clothed thus with a double interest and splendor. 

This habit once formed, every thing becomes expressive to 
the mind that has formed it. The attitude and manner of a 
man says something of his character. A conversation in a 
stage-coach, on any ordinary topic, brings to the view of the 
observer the operation of many principles of human nature, 
— and the actions of a group of children at play will reveal 
to him their respective dispositions, or exhibit in interesting 
lights the various propensities of childhood ; while another, 
looking upon the same scene, would see nothing in it but un- 
meaning frolicsomeness and confusion. 

In the same manner the events, and incidents, and indi- 
vidual history which exhibit themselves in our progress 
through life, as well as the various phases which human con- 
duct presents to us from day to day, ought to be studied with 
reference to the moral principles which lie at the foundation 
of them. All human character and conduct is but the acting 
out of inward principle, and the events and occurrences of 
life are determined by a combination of movements in the 
moral and intellectual world, from which they derive all 
their interest to us, as rational beings. It is in the develop- 
ment of these that we should be most interested. It is the 
common, and the universal, too, not the extraordinary, which 
should interest us most strongly. A vulgar eye stares at the 



INSTRUCTION. 347 

Refined and vulgar taste. 



strange, the monstrous, the wonderful. A trunk of a tree, 
twisted into the rude resemblance of a man, pleases it more 
than if it grows into its own proper form, and exhibits its own 
proper expression : and it loves the gaudy deformities of ex- 
cessive cultivation, rather than the simple elegance of the 
natural flower. Carrying the same principle into its obser- 
vations upon human life, it sees nothing to interest it in the 
beautiful operations of ordinary cause and effect, — the health- 
ful, quiet, natural expression with which all the movements 
of society beam. It is only the extraordinary development, 
the complicated plot, the catastrophe, the escape, the won- 
derful, the horrible, which can arrest its attention ; — the true 
philosopher derives a far higher pleasure in reading the 
meaning of every thing around him. The latter is pleased 
with discerning, in common events, the operation of an Uni- 
versal Cause ; and in an accidental interruption he is inter- 
ested chiefly in observing the new influence, whose interven- 
tion produced it. The former is pleased only with accidents, 
and with them, only because they are strange. The less he 
understands them, the greater his delight, for the very essence 
of his delight is surprise and wonder. 

Now do not study the varied scene of life, which exhibits 
itself around you, in this way. Make it your aim not merely 
to see what is visible to the eye, but to read its hidden mean- 
ing ; and take pleasure, not in novelty and strangeness, but 
in the clearness with which you understand and appreciate 
every 'common phenomenon. Be intimately conversant thus 
with a moral and spiritual world, using the external one 
around you as the medium of access to it. He who does this, 
will find his mind filled with a thousand recollections and 
associations which, by mean3 of a power that is neither im- 
agination or memory but something between, will furnifch 
him with illustrations of all which he wishes to teach ; — illus 
trations true in spirit, though imaginary in form. 



348 THE WAY TO DO GOOD.. 

The evidence for moral truth. 

The study of man on these principles will give the Chris* 
tian who pursues it immense facilities for instructing and in- 
teresting his pupils in religious truth. For he will, hy such 
means, greatly extend his knowledge of this truth, in all its 
thousand ramifications, and in its endless connections with 
the circumstances of life ; and then this complete familiarity 
with the field, will give him an independent and original 
freedom of hand in the discussion and illustration of truth, 
which nothing else can supply. Thoroughly furnished thus 
with knowledge of the Scriptures, considered as a great store- 
house of moral truth, and with knowledge of man, his feel- 
ings, his habits, his principles of action, and the thousand 
changing hues which human character assumes, he may go 
freely and boldly forward, and will be prepared to labor in 
this field with the greatest success. His study of the Bible 
will give him the truth which he is to present, and his study of 
man will open to him the avenues by which he is to present it 

4. The admission of moral truth to the soul is to be se^ 
cured mainly by means of a testimony awakened in its favor 
from within. 

In several instances in the course of this work we have had 
occasion to refer to the readiness with which moral and re- 
ligious truth is received by the human mind, when properly 
presented to it. It seems to carry its evidence within itself, 
or rather, it finds faculties in the human soul so well quali- 
fied to judge almost instinctively of its claims, and so predis- 
posed to admit them, that the single presentation of it seems 
generally to secure its admission. There is a sort of moral 
intuition, by which moral beauty and excellence are appre- 
hended, and moral truth received. 

That this should be so, follows from the very nature of 
moral truth. It does not consist of a series of propositions, 



INSTRUCTION. 349 

Mathematical truth. 



constructed with subject, predicate, and copida, and following 
one another in order, like the successive theorems of the sci- 
ence of astronomy. In fact, this way of considering the 
mathematical sciences is altogether artificial, and the neces- 
sity of it results from the feebleness of our intellectual powers. 
To a mind that could look upon the whole planetary system, 
with powers sufficient really to comprehend the mathemati- 
cal bearings and relations of the whole, — the tendencies, the 
movements, the variations, the limits, the laws, and the forces, 
in their combination or opposition or results, would appear as 
one magnificent and harmonious whole, and would be seen 
by the intellectual eye directly and together. Those few de- 
tached and separate principles which mathematicians have 
drawn out, and expressed as laws, would be combined in the 
view with those thousand others with which they are in 
reality blended, and the mind would survey the whole com- 
plicated system, — (we do not mean the system of visible mo- 
tions, but of mathematical laws,) — as the eye would take in 
an extended landscape spread out before it. Thus the vast 
and complicated results which we have to deduce one by 
one, by means of our laborious computation, would be directly 
perceived, and would be looked upon by the mind as one 
great and connected reality, and not as a few detached and 
artificial propositions. Our intellectual vision is not strong 
enough thus to grasp the higher sciences ; and so we grope 
our way from one detached and isolated principle expressed 
in formal language, to another, wherever we can find the 
shortest and simplest steps ; like a blind man in a palace, 
groping along by the aid of chairs and banisters, and know- 
ing nothing certainly, excepting the few separate objects he 
has touched ; which, few and scattered as they are, prove 
to him, from their position and character, that he is in the 
midst of a scene of magnificence and splendor which he can 
never fully realize. 



350 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

A difference botween moral and intellectual science. 

It is so with all other sciences. The properties of a tri- 
angle are all involved in the very nature of the figure. If 
our minds could comprehend that nature as a whole, we 
should see all these properties as readily and directly as we 
now perceive that there must be three angles if there are 
three sides. Unable, however, thus to grasp the whole at a 
single view, we grope our way to a few detached and separ- 
ate principles, by a toilsome, and slow, and cautious ratioci- 
nation. Reasoning, therefore, step by step, from premises to 
conclusion, is the resort of a limited mind when its higher 
powers fail, and the detached and limited results thus obtain- 
ed are but substitutes for more comprehensive knowledge. 
Still, the exercise of these reasoning powers may be, as in- 
deed it is, an exhibition of the noblest and greatest efforts of 
the human mind ; as the highest effort of the sagacity of a 
blind man, may be exhibited, in the dexterity with which 
he makes his way in a crowded city, by his hearing and 
touch ; — and yet, after all, hearing and touch, however 
highly cultivated, are, in such a case, but an imperfect sub- 
stitute for vision. 

Now, we must, in the intellectual sciences, with minds 
circumscribed as ours are, be content to penetrate the bound- 
less field before us, only in a narrow path like this, passing 
on in it from step to step by cautious ratiocination. And we 
can bring our pupil to any point which we have ourselves 
attained, only by leading him cautiously over all the previ- 
ous steps by which we had attained it. But it is not so with 
moral truth. Each subordinate portion seems to bring with 
it its own testimony, and to stand independent of the rest.- 
There are a thousand connections, it is true, by which all the 
parts are blended into one harmonious whole, but each carries 
its own evidence within itself, and needs only to be appre- 
hended, in order to be believed. 

This would be true without limitation or exception, were 



INSTRUCTION. 351 

Apparent exceptions. Proof of Christianity. 

it not for the influence of passion and sin which produce 
moral blindness, and cut off the view of moral truth from the 
soul. The very way, however, by which these operate, in 
shutting any moral principles from the mind, illustrates what 
we have said ; for they produce these effects, not by incapaci- 
tating the mind from following any trains of reasoning by 
which the principles might be sustained, but by rendering it 
insensible to their intrinsic excellence and beauty. Our great 
work, therefore, is, as we have said often before, to present 
truth, rather than to prove it to man. We are to gain ac- 
cess for it, around, or under, or over, or through, the prejudices 
and sins which oppose its admission ; — then we are to pre- 
sent it in its own intrinsic excellence and beauty, and exhibit 
it in its details and in its applications, confident that if it is 
perceived, it will commend itself, and be established by its 
own intrinsic character, rather than by any train of ratioci- 
nation by which it may be shown to result logically from 
established principles. 

This is true in regard to a great many cases which might, 
at first, appear as exceptions. There is, for example, the 
evidence of the truth of Christianity. We are accustomed 
to see it presented in a well-connected train of argument, 
which proceeds from what is admitted as a system of prem- 
ises, to the result finally arrived at as conclusion. But in 
point of fact, we shall generally find, that though such an 
argument may be constructed, it is not the force which such 
a train of reasoning exercises that generally determines the 
faith of Christians, nor does it materially affect that faith. 
The true ground on which Christianity is received, where it 
is really received, is a perception of its moral features, by a 
mind spiritually sensible of them. It commends itself to the 
moral wants of the soul, and where these moral wants are 
felt, Christianity is received by a process much shorter than 
Lardner's. In other cases, Christianity is not really be- 



352 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Proof by experiment. Illustration*. 

lieved. The education, or the habits of the individual may 
be such that he does not choose to deny its truth, but he does 
not really receive it. The argument, at any rate, does not 
convince him. If, in any case, it seems to have some effect, 
it is mainly by its moral influence in bringing the claims of 
religion in their true character, fairly before the mind. 

It is in accordance with this view of the subject, that the 
various illustrations with which this work and its predeces- 
sors abound, are given to the reader. They are offered, not 
as arguments, but simply as aids to ajjprehension, in cases 
where the thought, if apprehended, will commend itself. 
Facts may be sometimes stated as evidence ; as for example, 
when a chemist informs us that he subjected silex to a cer- 
tain degree of heat, and it was fused. If we believe his 
testimony, we learn, from his statement of the fact, that silex 
is fusible at the specified temperature. In such a case every 
thing depends on the authority of the observer, and this on 
the accuracy and faithfulness of his observations. We know 
nothing about the subject, except what he informs us. There 
is no intrinsic evidence in the case ; and all the value of the 
chemist's information depends upon the fusion having actual- 
ly taken place in that particular instance, and under the 
circumstances described. But an illustration of any moral 
principle, though in the form of a reported fact, is altogether 
different in its nature. Take, for instance, the story of the 
boys on the ice, to illustrate the nature and effects of sin and 
confession, in the first chapter of the Young Christian. Its 
object is not to prove that sin will burden the mind, and 
confession relieve it, from the result of the experiment in that 
one case. Its object is not to prove the truth, but only to 
make a clear exhibition of it. For its reception, we rely on 
a testimony in its favor in the mind of every reader. So 
that the appeal is not to the authority of experiment, but to 
the authority of every man's consciousness, in respect to the 



INSTRUCTION. 353 



Difficulty of sound induction. 



operation of moral causes upon the human mind. It fol- 
lows, therefore, that while in the chemical example, we must 
have the most unquestionable evidence that the experiment 
was actually performed, and performed as exactly reported, 
— in the moral one, it is of no consequence whether it was 
or was not ever performed at all. An illustration of a moral 
principle or truth, intended only to exhibit something which 
is to prove itself when exhibited, if it is true to human na- 
ture, may be as well imaginary as real ; for it is evidently of 
no consequence, whether the occurrence described ever took 
place or not, provided that its only object is to bring before 
the mind, the elements or materials upon which the mind is 
afterward left at liberty to judge. 

Moral truth may, indeed, sometimes be proved by the 
adduction of facts, — results of experiment. But this is a 
very slow and toilsome process. " Facts," it is said, by a 
common proverb, " are stubborn things :" to this, it has been 
very properly replied, that they are the most pliant, flexible, 
uncertain things that the human intellect has to deal with. 
Even in the physical world it is far more difficult than is 
ordinarily imagined, to establish any truth by a legitimate 
induction. Do the various positions of the moon, in her 
monthly revolution, affect the changes of the weather ? To 
settle such a question, by a series of observations made with 
such accuracy, and perseverance, and care as really to settle 
it, will require a vigilance and a labor which those who 
are not accustomed to philosophical inquiries would be 
slow to anticipate. But in the moral world the difficulty is 
incomparably greater ; and though it is very often the case 
that writers attempt to prove the wisdom of plans, or the 
efficacy of measures, for the promotion of piety, by an induc- 
tion of facts, to prove their success on experiment, — yet these 
facts are seldom sufficient to establish the point, according 
to the principles of philosophical induction. 



354 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Truth accessible. Arguing with error. First case. 

It is pleasant to reflect how close at hand, God has placed 
all the moral and religious truth necessary for human salva- 
tion. If lahored reasoning had been necessary to establish it, 
how many millions, even in a civilized and Christian land, 
must have lived and died in hopeless ignorance ; but God has 
provided better for the wants and dangers of humanity. He 
has so adapted the constitution of the human mind to the 
immutable and eternal principles of right and wrong, that 
our great work is simply to manifest them, in order to have 
them received ; and where they are rejected, it is sin, not in- 
tellectual incapacity, that causes their exclusion. 

5. Attempts to remove error by argument or personal con- 
troversy, are almost always in vain. 

Sometimes when we argue, we are not arguing with error 
at all. We aim directly at the establishment of the truth, 
and that without supposing in our hearer any tendency to 
error. As when, for example, one young man presents to 
another, in a walk, the evidence in favor of the immortality 
of the soul which he may have collected ; not as a means of 
combating his companion's errors, but of confirming and 
establishing his belief of the truth. Parents often thus ar- 
gue with their children, and pastors with their people. They 
attempt to prove the truth, feeling all the time that their 
hearers go along with them easily, wishing to have it proved. 
It is obvious that there are few dangers or difficulties here. 
The speakers and hearers are agreed. They are traveling a 
road which they all wish to travel ; the followers looking up 
to the leader as a guide. Under such circumstances, there 
must be some extraordinary clumsiness or infelicity, to create 
any difficulty by the way. 

Again, in other cases, we argue not for the truth, but 
against error, — our hearers, however, being, as before, unbi- 



INSTRUCTION. 6h5 



ased, and willing to be led wherever our arguments may 
carry them. Here there is a little greater danger than in the 
other case, for error is dangerous to meddle with in any way. 
First, there is danger that our mere statement of the error 
will introduce it ; in accordance with the principle that we 
have often alluded to, in the course of this work, that state- 
ments have more influence generally upon the human mind 
than reasoning. An idea presented will often enter and re- 
main, bidding defiance to all the exorcisms of argument and 
appeal, by which the introducer of it in vain attempts to get 
it out again. Then, also, by the violence with which we 
assail an opinion and its advocates, we may create a sym- 
pathy in their favor, and lead our hearers to take their side ; 
— on the principle which leads us often to take part with the 
absent and undefended, whether right or wrong. Thus, 
while we imagine tbat our hearers are admiring the havoc 
which our intellectual cannon is making in the battlements 
of the enemy, they are in fact, secretly stealing over to the 
aid of the fortress assailed. In these and in similar ways, 
we may, while combating error, enlist some of the feelings 
of human nature in its favor, — feelings stronger than allegi- 
ance to logic and reasoning. These dangers, however, serious 
as they are, we must not now dwell upon, but pass to a 
third case. ■ ■ 

We sometimes argue directly with those holding erroneous 
opinions. This is what we intended by the phrase, " at- 
tempting to remove error by argument," placed at the head 
of this part of the chapter. Here lies the great difficulty 
and danger. The attempt to convince man of error in the 
most delicate and hazardous of all the modes of action of 
mind upon mind. By saying it is delicate, I do not mean 
that it is a nice operation. The forces are not small and 
weak, requiring nice attention and adjustment to develop 
them. They are, on the contrary, great and uncontrollable. 



356 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Great forces to be overcome. Dangers. 

There is the mighty power of truth, on one side, and the still 
mightier power of error, on the other. There is habit with 
its iron chain, and prejudice and passion with their swift 
current, and pride with its strong walls, and falsehood and 
inconsistency like heaps of rubbish. These you have to over- 
come and remove. You have indeed, on your side, the clear 
and silent light of reason, and the voice of conscience, — 
powerful enough to conquer any thing else ; but pride, and 
passion, and habit will conquer them. 

When the speaker has a willing auditor his work is easy , 
but when he has one to lead along in a way in which he 
does not wish to go, the work is all but hopeless. Estab- 
lished opinions are, indeed, sometimes changed, — but not 
often by reasoning. New associations,— the slow influence 
of altered circumstances, — the change effected in the whole 
character of the soul, by real conviction of sin, — these and 
similar causes, affecting the feelings more than the reasoning 
powers, often subdue pride, and break down obstinacy and 
undermine long-established errors. And so does, sometimes, 
it must be acknowledged, the power of naked reasoning ; — 
sometimes, — but yet seldom. 

Still, there are many cases where argument helps and 
hastens the abandonment of error. Perhaps, however, it as 
often only confirms its dominion. And yet many persons, 
especially the young, are eager to engage in it. Experience 
generally gives us more sober expectations of success from it, 
but in early life we are always ready for the combat. By 
faithfully studying and understanding and adopting the fol- 
lowing principles, our readers will avoid many of the dangers 
of such conflicts, and will somewhat increase the faint hopes 
of success. 

(1.) Understand fully the position taken by the friend 
whose errors you wish to correct. You must, to do this, go 
to him as it were, and see with his eyes. Remember thai 



INSTRUCTION. 



357 



Practical directions. 



The strange light. 



error appears reasonable to all who embrace it. It is a fal- 
lacious reasonableness, I grant, but it appears real. Now 
you must see this fallacious reasonableness yourself, or you 
can not understand the light in which the subject stands, in 
the mind which you are endeavoring to reach. If, instead 
of this, Ave keep at a distance, and fulminate expressions of 
reprobation at a man's errors, and of astonishment at his 
inconsistency and wickedness in holding them, we may grat- 
ify our own censoriousness and spiritual pride, but can do him 
no good. 



r;-' 





" Father," says a little child sitting on his footstool by the 
fireside, on a winter evening : " Father, I see a light, a 
strange light out the window, over across the road." 

" Nonsense, you silly child, there is no house across the 
road, and there can be no light there at this time of night " 



358 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Two ways of combating error. 

" But I certainly see one, father, a large bright light." 

"No such thing," insists the father. " It can not be so. 
There is nothing over there that can burn. I can see out of 
the window myself, and it is all a white field of snow." 

This is one way of combating error. The boy is silenced, 
not convinced ; and were he not awed by parental authority, 
he would not even be silenced. 

"Where?" says another father, in a similar case. And 
though from his own chair, he can see the field, across the 
road, he goes to the child, and putting his eye close to his 
son's, says, " Where ? — let me see ?" 

" Ah, I see it : — well, now, walk slowly with me, up to 
the window." 

Thus he leads the boy up and shows him the grounds of 
his illusion, in a reflection of the fire from a pane of glass. 

Now, this is the proper way of correcting error. You 
must first see it, as the friend whose opinions you wish to 
correct, sees it. It has its specious appearances. There are 
positions toward which it presents reasonable, though falla- 
cious aspects. Now you can do your friend no good, you 
can not sympathize with him, you can not understand him, 
you can not advance a step in reasoning with him, unless 
you first go and put your intellectual eye where his is. 

It is no matter what the opinions are against which you 
contend, you can not contend against them to advantage, 
unless you understand them, and you can not really under- 
stand them unless you perceive them as they are perceived 
by the mind which they possess. If you do not perceive 
them thus, it is in fact something else that you perceive. 
If any opinion seems to you preposterous and absurd, and 
only such, the probability is that you could do no good to the 
individual who holds it, by discussion ; for it is plain that it 
does not appear preposterous and absurd to him, and, there- 
fore, the perception which you attack is not the one which 



INSTRUCTION. 359 

Misunderstandings. Sympathy. 



he maintains. It may be the same in name, and somewhat 
the same in substance ; but in all those aspects and relations 
of it which constitute its life, and give it its hold upon him, 
it is different to you from what it is to him ; and your dis- 
cussion will be an angry dispute, in which neither will 
understand the other. 

If, therefore, a young man, in referring to any error, as 
Atheism, or Deism, or disbelief in a judgment to come, 
says, " It seems utterly astonishing to me, that any one can 
believe such an error. I do not see what he can possibly 
say. I should like to meet with one, holding it ; it seems to 
me I could show him his mistake :" — if, I say, he speaks 
thus, it is pretty safe to infer that he would act most wisely 
by letting the error alone. He does not understand it. In 
a discussion he would not make the slightest progress. 
There would be a violent collision between him and his 
unbelieving opponent, from which he would recoil in a sort 
of maze, like a moth from a candle. 

If he says, however, — " I do not think it surprising that 
such a man should be a Deist. Considering his education, 
his associates, and the position which he occupies, I can see 
easily how the subject of revealed religion should present 
itself in such a way to his mind as to lead him to disbelieve 
it ;" — if he says that, there is a little more hope. There is 
some ground for sympathy between himself and his opponent. 
The discussion can have a beginning ; and if there can ever 
be hope of any progress, it is in such a case. 

Wo one, therefore, can be qualified to attempt to lead any 
soul out of its errors, but by first going to it, in them. 
You must understand and appreciate the subject on which 
men err, as it presents itself to their minds. Perhaps you 
will shrink from doing this. It requires you, you will say, 
for the time being, to go over to the side of error, and look 
upon it with favorable eyes, and this is dangerous. It is, 



3G0 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Effects of disputation. Exaggeration. 

perhaps, the most dangerous work which we can engage in ; 
and if the reader should consider his hope of "bringing any 
persons out of the wilds of error, too feeble to justify his 
incurring the hazard of going there after them, — to he lost, 
perhaps, himself, — I should most sincerely approve of his 
caution. But then, if he is deterred by this danger from 
qualifying himself suitably for the work, he must not under- 
take it. He can do nothing hut exhaust and irritate him- 
self, and fix his friend in his delusions hy attempting to 
argue without this qualification. 

(2.) You must not only go to the intellectual position 
which your friend occupies, in order to begin the discussion, 
hut you must keep with him all the way. You draw him 
out, as the magnet draws out the iron, by keeping in contact, 
— the moment you break from him, you lose him. You can 
do nothing at a distance, for arguments have little weight, 
unless the heart is open to receive them ; and candor, good- 
humor, and intellectual sympathy are necessary in order to 
keep the heart open. 

Now it is very hard to avoid an immediate rupture, the 
moment you enter into conversation with a friend upon a 
subject on which you disagree. The course of things gene- 
rally, is, that as soon as any thing like discussion is coni' 
menced, each party recedes as far as possible from the other, 
and by exaggeration, and over-statement, and pressing to ex- 
tremes, they get to as great a distance from each other as they 
can, and from these positions which they have respectively 
taken, they cannonade one another with merciless violence, 
each gravely expecting to drive the other over to himself. 
In some cases of moral intercourse between mind and mind' 
there may properly be a separation, — a want of sympathy ; 
as where a man is rebuked for a known and admitted sin, 
or denounced for opinions which carry on the face of them 
their own condemnation, and are, in fact, only pretended 



INSTRUCTION. 361 



Defending error, and its effects. 



^pinions, assumed for selfish purposes. But where there is 
real error, where the mind is really deceived, you must go to 
it, and lead it out ; you must keep with it all the way. If 
you break from it, it falls back again into a worse position 
than before. 

To avoid this losing of your hold upon the mind which 
you are attempting to convince of its errors, you must not 
overstate any fact, or exaggerate the force of any considera- 
tion which is in your favor, nor underrate any thing which 
your antagonist may advance. Be honest and candid. Ad- 
mit the force of his objections and difficulties ; listen atten- 
tively to what he says, not as a mere matter of civility, but 
from an honest desire to know exactly how the subject stands 
in his mind. Do not be in haste to reply to what he says, 
but admit its force, and take it into consideration. Thus he 
will perceive that your object is not victory, but truth ; and 
as you show yourself willing to look candidly at the whole 
subject, he will, by sympathy, catch the same spirit, and you 
will thus go on together. As long as you can thus keep 
together, you may perhaps advance, but the moment you 
separate from each other he falls back, and your hold over 
him is gone. 

(3.) Avoid arousing your friend, by opposition, to take 
ground in defense of his opinions. If you wish to fix a man 
most firmly on either side of any question, the surest way is 
to give him that side to defend. Hence the great danger 
and evil of discussions ; they become disputes, and make 
each party more fixed and obstinate than before. Avoid, 
therefore, putting your friend upon his defense, or making an 
antagonist of him. You can do nothing with an antagonist. 
If he adduces an argument or states a fact, do not reply to it, 
or contradict it ; but on the other hand, by an honest ques- 
tion or two draw it out more fully, so as completely to pos- 
Eoss yourself of it, as it stands in his mind. If it ig weak, do 

a 



362 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Deal in great arguments, not in minute detailu 

not make him think it strong by putting him on the defense 
of it. If it is strong, do not impress it upon his memory, and 
give it an undue importance, by arguing about it. In either 
case, trust to the great leading considerations which you 
have to adduce on the other side, as the means of over- 
coming its influence. With the greatest circumspection, 
you will find it all but impossible to prevent your conversa- 
tion degenerating into a dispute. You may read and under- 
stand these principles now, and admit their reasonableness. 
But when you come to apply them, you will find an almost 
insurmountable difficulty. In fact the reader will be very 
likely to say, while reading these paragraphs, that the rules 
are very good in theory, but impossible to be followed in 
practice. I grant it. Or at least, I allow that it is almost 
impossible to follow them, — it is certainly almost impossible, 
in endeavoring to convince a friend of the erroneousness of 
his opinions, or avoid arousing him to a resolute defense of 
them. This is true, no doubt, and it is only saying that it 
is almost impossible to do any good by reasoning with people 
about their errors. 

(4.) Make it your great object to present to your friend, 
and to keep before his mind, the few great leading consider- 
ations on which the evidence of the truth must rest, and not 
to discuss with him the details, and difficulties and objec 
tions which cluster around every great subject. It is the 
influence of a few great considerations which determine the 
conviction of the mind in all cases. Tho truth of Chris- 
tianity, for instance, rests in the mass of m.nds, on its great, 
visible, moral effects, and not on the details of that com- 
plicated argument which researches into its history have 
furnished, — nor on the possession of satisfactory answers to 
the thousand objections which have been advanced. It is, 
indeed, very important to possess these answers. There are 
certain occasions and certain purposes, for which they an* 



INSTRUCTION. 363 



Course to pursue. 



essentially important. But in such discussions as we are 
speaking of here, the more exclusively the mind that is wrong 
is brought to look upon the great leading considerations 
which establish the truth, the better. 

We are very prone to overrate the extent to which it is 
necessary that the many difficulties and objections which can 
be raised against the truth, should be met and answered. 
They must, to some extent, remain. The mind is full of 
them on every subject. All truth, whether believed or dis- 
believed, is connected with difficulties which we can not 
remove. The most common doctrines of philosophy, such 
as that sound is produced by aerial vibrations, — and that the 
blood circulates, — and that cold is mere absence of heat, — 
and many other most unquestionable truths, are embarrassed 
with difficulties which it is very difficult to solve. The 
course, noAv, for a wise instructor to take with his class, is 
not to call their attention too much to these, in vain attempts 
to offer satisfactory solutions. This would be the way to 
spread doubt and uncertainty over their minds in respect to 
the whole subject. It will be better, when first attempting 
to inculcate the -truth, to admit these difficulties, and ac- 
knowledge their force, — and then to present the great leading 
evidence which is sufficient to establish the truth, notwith- 
standing them. In religious discussion we should do the 
same. Our great object is to bring forward the leading con- 
siderations which balance the scale and determine conviction ; 
and then to present these to the mind, and make as little 
-reply as possible to the counter considerations adduced in 
disproof. Thus you gain a double advantage ; you secure 
the presentation of what must be the basis of conviction, if it 
is established at all, and you avoid that most imminent of 
all dangers, putting your friend upon the defense of his 
opinions, which would inevitably confirm him in them. 

These principles, if understood and practiced, will perhaps 



364 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 



Faint hopes of success. (Classes of reasonero. 

aid a little, but after all, we can promise the private Chris- 
tian very little success in his efforts to do good by reasoning 
with error. There are a thousand difficulties and obstructions 
in the way of gaining such an access to the human soul. 
There are some minds that can not argue nor appreciate 
argument. They seem to have no powers of perception for 
a logical sequence. They go by authority, so far as they are 
influenced by others, and by . mere notions, so far as they 
influence themselves. Then there are others who will not 
attend to you. While you are speaking, they are conning a 
reply, not to what you are saying, but to what they have 
heard said by others before. Then there is a third class, so 
loose, and illogical, and irrational in all their ideas, that in 
one single sentence you hear uttered or implied errors enough 
to lay you out work for an hour, in taking them up one by 
one, for examination and exposure. You, however, begin 
with one ; but the first sentence which you hear from your 
interlocutor in regard to it, is another shoot at random over 
the field of prejudice and error, and you give up at once, in 
despair. Another person is so entirely away from you in 
sentiment and feeling that you can get no common ground 
to start from. His ideas, and feelings, and habits of reason- 
ing are all diverse from yours. He lives in a different moral 
and intellectual world, and you can not understand one 
another at all. He takes principles for granted that you 
would deny, and if you turn aside to discuss one of them, 
you take for granted, immediately, what he does not admit, 
and thus you have no footing. Then there is pride, and the 
power of habit, and the influence of association, and. author- 
ity, and interest, and the bias of feelings averse to the sacri- 
fices which sound moral principle requires. [ When we 
consider the nature of these elements, we shall moderate our 
ideas in respect to the immediate effects which we can hope 
to produce upon them. Truth and logic, with all their 



INSTRUCTION. 3G5 



Way in which human opinions are formed. 



power, are proved to be frail instruments among such mora] 
forces as these. 

The force of authority and personal influence have a fai 
greater control over men's opinions, and reason far less, than 
is generally imagined. Suppose, for example, that for the 
sake of trying an experiment upon human mind, and testing 
the real strength of truth, the philosophers of England should 
divide themselves into two parties, equal in talents and num- 
bers, and enter into a controversy, making a question, for this 
purpose, of some undoubted truth. Let one party maintain, 
for example, the truth that the earth is in motion, and the 
other, the falsehood, that it is at rest. The latter would, of 
course, pretend that recent discoveries and calculations had 
overturned the long-received opinions, and that, after all, it 
was proved that it was the sun, not the earth that revolved. 
We must suppose that this latter party are equal in talents 
and standing and influence with the others, and that they 
are believed to be honest and sincere, and that they main- 
tain their cause with. the same industry in arraying the facts 
which seem to favor their theory, and in fabricating inge- 
nious arguments which should exhibit the appearance of 
mathematical reasoning. Suppose the discussion to go on 
for half a century, what would be the result ? " Why, every 
man," you would at once reply, " of any intelligence and 
understanding, who would devote any proper attention to the 
subject, would be brought to the right side. The evidence 
for the truth in this case, is overwhelming." Admit it. But 
what percentage of the whole mass of any people are men 
of intelligence and understanding ? and what percentage of 
those would have paid such attention to the subject, as to 
separate for themselves truth from falsehood, and to form an 
independent judgment of the case, and see distinctly the 
solidity of the arguments for the truth, and the fallacy of 
those for the error ? A very small one. The result would 



366 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Result of the discussion. Grounds of human belief. 

probably be, that the mass of the people would be divided 
between the contending parties, pretty nearly in proportion 
to the numbers and standing and personal influence and 
popularity of the respective leaders ; and the termination of 
the experiment would show that the opinions of mankind on 
almost any subject which they hear discussed, and on which 
they seem to form a judgment independently, rest, after all, 
upon the weight of authority, and not upon the perceived 
conclusiveness of the reasonings. 

It is true, that on subjects of mathematical and physical 
science, where there is, in a general view of the great mass 
of mind, no leading bias one way or the other, there can not 
be, for a long time, any such division of authority, as we 
have supposed in this imaginary case. The force of the 
argument will compel unanimity among leaders, and then 
the influence of authority will secure the unanimity of the 
rest. But in moral subjects, this is not so. Take such a 
question as the true character and desert of Napoleon Buon- 
aparte. The moral argument here will not enforce una- 
nimity among the leaders of mind, and the followers, swayed 
by the opinions, or the representations, or the personal influ- 
ence of those to whom they are accustomed to defer, will be 
divided too. 

We can not trust, then, in the expectation that truth will, 
in a world like this, necessarily make her way by our simply 
arming her with intellectual weapons, and sending her out 
to fight against error. The result of such conflicts will 
generally depend more upon the ability of the advocate, or 
rather upon his personal influence, than upon the goodness 
of the cause. 

I ought, however, perhaps, to say in conclusion, though it 
may be scarcely necessary, that this chapter relates mainly to 
personal discussion between private Christians in the ordinary 
walks of life, and not to controversy among leading minds 



INSTRUCTION.- 367 



The way to spread the truth. Infidelity. 

advocating diverse opinions before the public, for the purpose 
of eliciting truth by discussion, or placing on record argu- 
ments to sustain it. This public controversy has its difficul- 
ties and dangers, immense and great, but this is not the place 
to exhibit them. The sphere of influence in which this book 
is intended to move, is a different one altogether. In that 
sphere there can be no question that disputation should hold 
but a very low rank among the means of doing good. Our 
means of promoting the spread of Christianity is not to effect 
triumphs for it in debate, but to spread its gentle and noise- 
less influence. We are to exhibit it in our lives, we are to 
explain, and enforce, and exemplify its duties. We are to 
express its principles, and gain, by every means in our power, 
an influence for them among our fellow-men. Thus the 
rigidity of argumentative disputation will be relaxed, and the 
moral influence of an alluring exhibition of the principles and 
duties of piety, will find an easy way where the most severe 
and scientific theological arguments for the truth, and refu- 
tations the most triumphant of error, would find every access 
barred and impregnable. 

These remarks apply with peculiar force to infidelity. It 
prevails to a vast extent in the world, and must, for some 
time to come, continue to prevail ; and although the proof 
of the truth ought to be constantly before the community, 
so as to be accessible to every mind, yet to rely upon the 
logical force of arguments, as the main instrument for the 
expulsion of infidelity, is to mistake altogether the nature of 
its power. Infidelity, as it has generally shown itself in this 
world, is not candid philosophical doubting of the mind ; it is 
■rejection by the heart. Its strength is not in its reasonings, 
but in its spirit. It is dislike to God, to penitence, humility, 
communion with heaven. It is love of this world, and of sin, 
and a determination to go on in its own way, without fear of 
a judgment to come. It is a spirit of hostility to God, and to 



368 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Spirit of infidelity. Voltaire. 

his reign, and a determination not to submit to it. Now 
such a spirit, logic and reasoning can never change, — they 
do not even tend to change it. 

The spirit of infidelity ; — the lofty genius of Voltaire has 
embalmed and preserved its deformed and malignant visage, 
for all time, and we fear that his wretched soul will find that 
he has done it for all eternity too, by his famous watchword, 
" Crush the wretch," applied to Jesus of Nazareth. Read 
the Savior's life,— consider his character, his mild unoffend- 
ing, gentle spirit, — his labors for the good of his race, — his 
patience, his forgiveness, — his cruel wrongs, and the submis- 
sive, quiet, and unruffled spirit, with which he bore them. 
Head the whole story, and think of such words as " Crush 
the wretch" applied to him. Oh, Voltaire, Voltaire, sad in- 
deed must have been the moral state of the heart which 
could have been aroused to anger, by the story of Jesus of 
Nazareth ; sad the heart which could call that homeless vic- 
tim of toil, and of patient suffering for others, a wretch, and 
which could meet his kind invitations, by a cry uttered 
forth to the whole civilized world, to arise and crush him. 
Do these malignant passions still burn in thy bosom, against 
him who would fain have saved thy soul ? We fear that 
they do, for the strength of angry passion which sent forth 
that defiance, could carry it but a little way toward the eter- 
nal throne of the Son of God. The lapse of years shows that 
throne standing firmer than ever, and thy malediction has 
fallen back upon thine own head, and thou thyself art the 
crushed wretch now, forever. 



PROPERTY AS A MEANS OP DOING GOOD. 369 

A false impression. Scriptural authority. 



CHAPTER XI. 

PROPERTY AS A MEANS OF DOING GOOD. 
" The hand of the diligent maketh rich." 

How far those who may desire to devote their lives to the 
work of doing good, will have power to carry into effect their 
benevolent wishes and plans, will depend very much upon 
their having right conceptions of the nature and use of prop- 
erty as a means of influence and usefulness. 

There seems to be, in some instances, an impression more 
or less distinct upon the minds of Christians, that the desire 
to possess property, and the vigorous prosecution of plans and 
efforts to obtain it, are wrong. This impression would ap- 
pear to be derived in part from passages and expressions in 
the New Testament, intended to warn us against the danger 
of an inordinate love of money, and in part, perhaps, from the 
example of the apostles and the early Christians, who mani 
fested certainly a great indifference in respect to the acquisi- 
tion of property. But however this impression originates, it 
is unquestionably a wrong one. 

In the first place, so far as scriptural authority goes, an 
overwhelming argument may be adduced in favor of the de- 
sirableness of the possession of wealth. The immediate dis- 
ciples of our Savior, whose vocation was, by special appoint- 
ment from him, that of religious teachers, did not indeed seek 
to acquire property ; and it is unquestionably best, as a gene- 
ral rule, that religious teachers should in all ages of the 



370 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 



The patriarchs. Scriptural view of wealth and poverty. 

world follow their example in this respect. Other holy men, 
however, who are described in the Scriptures, men who lived 
in other ages of the world, and who presented different rela- 
tions to their fellow-men, acquired in many instances great 
possessions. Abraham was a man of great wealth, and the 
efficiency and power of the efforts which he made in the ser- 
vice of God, were due in a very considerable degree to the 
influence and consideration which his wealth gave him 
among his fellow-men. 

In the same manner, Boaz, Job, David, and in fact all 
the prominent characters in the early history of the church, 
were men of great wealth, and of high social positions. Sol- 
omon was the wealthiest man of his age ; and the wise, and 
prudent, and effective measures which he adopted to increase 
and preserve his property, are recorded by the sacred penman 
with high commendation. 

Then, besides these historical examples, we find that in the 
didactic and preceptive portions of the sacred volume, the 
possession of wealth and honor is invariably spoken of as a 
good, and not as an evil. They are the rewards promised to 
the righteous, — rewards which are to inure to the benefit 
both of themselves and of all who are connected with them, 
- -while poverty is invariably spoken of as something wholly 
undesirable. It is described, sometimes indeed as a calamity 
brought upon men in the inscrutable providence of God, but 
generally as the result of improvidence and sin, and always 
as an evil. Men are exhorted to be industrious, diligent, and 
frugal, in order to avoid it ; and the encouragement and aid 
of Divine Providence is promised to them in the efforts which 
th *y make, if they make them in the right spirit, to rise to 
wealth and honor. In consideration of these things, we are 
compelled to conclude that when in the New Testament the 
lo" e of money seems to be condemned, it is an inordinate and 
e> essive love of money that is intended ; and that the prac- 



PROPERTY AS A MEANS OF DOING GOOD. 371 

Man creates property. Property produced by the practice of virtue, 

tice of the apostles, in leading lives of privation and poverty, 
was not intended as an example for mankind in general, * 
binding upon them in all subsequent times. 

If, however, there were no instructions on this subject in 
the Scriptures, it would be plain from the very nature of the 
case, that it is every man's duty to pursue such a course as 
shall in ordinary cases result in the accumulation of property. 
Property is something that is created by man. In a state of 
nature there is no property. There would be land indeed, 
then, as now, but it would not possess the attributes of prop- 
erty. It would be in this respect as water and air are now, 
which being common to all, and having no value imparted 
to them by human labors and improvements, do not possess 
the characteristics of property. 

Man then creates property. And how does he create it ? 
By the practice of virtues. The qualities of character and 
action by which property is produced are industry, frugality, 
prudence, temperance, wisdom. In hoarding property once 
produced, and in obtaining it unjustly from others who have 
produced it, men are impelled often by vicious propensities ; 
but in the production of property, it is a general rule that 
only those qualities of character and action are involved, 
which both reason and revelation continually inculcate upon 
all men. It is the duty, therefore, of all men to pursue such 
a course as shall bring property into their possession ; — and 
as it is equally plain that they must not recklessly dissipate 
and waste it, when it is acquired, the doing of their duty will 
make them wealthy. 

These views are greatly enforced by a consideration of the 
immensity of the power which is exercised by capital in pro- 
moting the civilization, the comfort, and the general welfare 
of the human race. If it was doing good for Dorcas to make 
a dozen garments for the poor who lived in her neighborhood, 
it is certainly doing good fox a Manchester or a Lowell manu- 



372 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 



An illustration. Case of Dorcas. Operations of business. 

facturer to make fifty millions of such garments, and send 
* them to clothe whole nations and tribes half round the 
world. The fact that Dorcas gave her garments away as a 
matter of mere charity, while the manufacturer and mer- 
chant induce those whom they clothe to work industriously, 
that they may make a return for theirs, and that this return 
is brought home by the merchant, and goes, in some form or 
other, to disseminate new and additional comforts among the 
population of his native land, only shows, in another point, 
the immense superiority of the operations of business as a 
means of doing good over those of charity. 

The reader will perhaps say that Dorcas is impelled by a 
kind and charitable motive in what she does, while the mer- 
chant is actuated by a selfish one. He sends comfort and 
relief it is true, to many millions, but he does it, not for the 
sake of doing good to them, but for the sake of making 
money for himself. Let us suppose this to be true ; it still 
shows only a fault in the motive, and not in the method. 
The highest and noblest benevolence obviously consists in 
pursuing the most effectual measures, with the purest and 
most sincere designs. If the motives are wrong we must 
make them right, always retaining the methods which are 
most effectual, and which operate on the grandest scale. 

We can imagine such a case as this. A merchant in a 
great city owns fifty ships, which he employs continually in 
sailing to and from place to place among the various nations 
of the earth, whenever he finds a want in one region which 
he can supply by means of a surplus which he obtains in 
another. The great function which he fulfills is the trans- 
ferring of what is surplusage and useless in one place, to 
another, where it gives relief and comfort to want. This is 
essentially the very nature of all mercantile transactions. 
Now suppose that overlooking the real results which his 
operations accomplish, and the immensity of the scale on 



PROPERTY AS A MEANS OF DOING GOOD. 373 

Operations of charity. Forming plans of life. Case supposed. 

which he accomplishes them, — and weary with what he 
calls such incessant devotion to worldly affairs, our merchant 
were to determine that he would wind up his business, with- 
draw from the world, and devote his time for the remainder 
of his days to what he would call doing good among his 
neighbors, and to the sick and poor of his native town. The 
result would he that he would leave thousands to suffer 
inconvenience and privation abroad, for every ten that he 
would supply and sustain at home. The wise counsel to he 
given to a man in such a situation as this, would be, that he 
should not change his mode of action at all, but endeavor 
instead to infuse a Christian spirit into the principles and 
motives with which he pursued it. 

The case is much the same, if we go back to the time 
when the merchant was a young man, and in forming his 
plans of life was considering whether or not he should aim at 
the acquisition of property. Suppose it had then been his 
desire to devote his life to the service of God, in promoting 
the welfare and happiness of his fellow-men, and that the 
question before his mind had been whether he should engage 
in active business, acquire capital, and devote himself ener- 
getically to the fulfillment of some great function of social 
life, or aim merely at acquiring a simple livelihood from 
day to day, in order that he might devote his chief time and 
attention to the individual cases of charity. How immeas- 
urably less efficient, in promoting the welfare of man, would 
the latter course of procedure be than the former. 

To illustrate these principles in still another form, we may 
suppose that in a certain family there are a husband and a 
wife, both truly benevolent, and both having hearts devoted 
to the work of doing good. The husband is a banker, and 
his business is to furnish funds to merchants to buy wheat in 
the western states of America, and send it by sea to those 
quarters of the world where it is most needed. To simplify the 



374 THE WAT TO DO GOOD. 

Husband and -wife. The manufactory and the sewing-circle. 

supposition we m ay imagine that all his capital is employed 
in this particular operation. His wife is one of the managers 
of a benevolent society, the object of which is to furnish 
food and clothing to the destitute in the immediate neighbor- 
hood where they dwell. This now is a very worthy object. 
The duty of providing for these wants ought on no account to 
be neglected. The wife is accordingly very deeply interested 
in it. She comes now to her husband some morning, asking 
that he will contribute a sum of money to aid in the objects 
of the society. He will doubtless gladly do it. Men of busi- 
ness are almost always ready to join in and aid any judicious 
plans for the alleviation of present and immediate suffering. 
He withdraws a portion of his capital from his business, and 
employs it for the purposes of the society. This is right. 
The thing to be observed however in the transaction, is, that 
we are not to consider such a change in the employment of 
funds as rescuing them from mere worldly and selfish pur- 
poses, and devoting them to those that are charitable and 
good. It is on the other hand only changing them from one 
mode of doing good to another mode of doing good. It is 
depriving merchants to some extent of the means of sending 
food where it is needed, in one place, for the sake of sup- 
plying a society of ladies with the means of sending it 
where it is needed in another. It is a change which to a 
certain extent, and under certain circumstances, ought un- 
doubtedly to be made ; but in making it, it is best that all 
concerned should understand distinctly what the true nature 
of it is. Such changes may be made injudiciously. We 
can conceive of circumstances under which a manufacturer 
might stop one of his looms, for the sake of employing the 
funds in aid of a sewing-circle for the poor, and by so doing 
prevent the clothing of a great many for the sake of making 
garments for the few. 



PROPEB.T"S AS A MEANS OF DOING GOOD. 375 



Motives in business. Motives in acts of charity. The two carpenters. 

Giving money, or food, or clothing to the poor, seems, it is 
true, at first view, a more kind and benevolent species of 
action than any of the ordinary operations of business ; but, 
as will be clearly seen by the foregoing remarks, the former 
is far less efficient and comprehensive in its results upon the 
welfare of man than the latter ; and even in respect to the 
motives and designs of the actors, the advantage will not prove 
on careful examination to be as decisive in favor of the former, 
as it might at first thought seem. A man may indeed be 
actuated solely by worldly and selfish motives and by love of 
money, in his business, but then, on the other hand, he may 
be actuated by ostentation, vanity, and love of display, in his 
charity. In fact the danger is perhaps quite as great of one 
of these temptations as of the other. Besides we are not at 
liberty to devote ourselves to an inferior and subordinate 
method of doing good, one in which we act at a disadvan- 
tage, and waste a great portion of our time and labor, because 
we imagine that in that way we can more easily govern our- 
selves by the right feelings of heart. On the contrary, we 
must aim at the highest, most extensive and most efficient 
mode of action which Providence has placed within the 
reach of our powers, and see to it, that in going forward in 
that course our motives are right, that is, that we are really 
seeking in all that we do the glory of God, and the highest 
welfare of our fellow-men. 

It will be seen, in fact, by the considerations presented 
above, that doing business is in itself doing good ; and this 
is true, whatever may be the branch or department of busi- 
ness in which a man is engaged, provided that it is a legiti- 
mate "and an honest one. Of two young mechanics, — car- 
penters, we will suppose, — residing in two different villages, 
let us imagine that one devotes himself with all his energies 
to the business of his calling. He studies carefully the prin- 
ciples of science involved in his occupation, makes himself 



376 



THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 



Their plans of life. 



an excellent workman, provides himself with the best of 
tools and implements, lays up his earnings that he may have 
the capital necessary for extended operations, striving all the 
time to accumulate this capital more and more, in order that 
with it he may do more and more. He goes on through life 
acting upon these principles, and in consequence of this 
course of action he is the builder, in the course of his life, 
of some hundred dwellings, to b° the abodes of peace and 

comfort and happiness 
for as many families. 
When he leaves the 
world, he leaves behind 
him these memorials 
of his industry, his pro- 
vidence and his thrift, 
to adorn his native vil- 
lage, and furnish shel- 
ter and homes for suc- 
ceeding generations. — 
The other, we will 
suppose, concluded that 
he would not aim at 
getting rich. He would 
A Ho: , IE . work moderately, ex- 

pend freely, and employ 
his surplus time in seeking out the poor and the destitute, 
and relieving them by direct charity. Now how much 
higher and more far-sighted, and more effectual in accom 
plishing their end, are the efforts of the former than the lat- 
ter. The poor and the destitute whom the latter relieved 
sparingly, imperfectly, and one by one, the other supplied 
effectually, fully, and in the mass, by affording them the 
means of self-support and independence through their own 
industry. 




PROPERTY AS A MEANS OF DOING GOOD. 377 

Various functions to be performed. Uses of capital. Gaming. 

Nor must it be supposed that these beneficial effects on 
the general welfare of man, produced by the vigorous and 
successful transaction of business, are confined to such cases aa 
we have referred to, in which only the production of food and 
clothing and dwellings are concerned. It is necessary that 
all the great functions of life, whatever they may be, should 
go on, and all branches of business, each in its own way, if it 
is a legitimate and honest one, combine together to promote 
the general good. There must be some men to manufacture, 
others to transport, others to buy and to sell, others to keep 
the accounts. Some purchase merchandise when it is low, 
and furnish to the owners of it money, which they need more 
than the goods, and then retaining the goods till the price 
rises again, they supply the demand at an advance. Such a 
function as this, though it is sometimes considered a useless 
one, is in fact one of those most essential to the general well- 
being of society. The plan of having capital at hand, ready 
to take the custody of the products of human industry when 
they are cheap and plentiful, and keep them safely until they 
are less so, constitutes the great regulator of social life. It 
corresponds with what is called the fly-wheel in a machine, 
a ponderous reservoir of momentum, which absorbs the moving 
force when it is in excess, and redelivers it again when there 
is a deficiency. 

There are, it is true, some pursuits among mankind, which, 
like gaming, produce no value, but only seek to gain without 
an equivalent, that which others have produced. These, 
however, are few : while all the legitimate and honest occu- 
pations of men, by which property is acquired, either actually 
create value, or do something to facilitate the creation of it, 
or increase it after it is created, and thus add to the sum 
total of the means of comfort and enjoyment at the command 
of the race. This being true, the most effectual mode which 
any person can adopt for promoting the general welfare, is to 



378 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Hon3st pursuits. Doing business is doing good. 

engage at once, and with all his energies, in co-operating 
with the rest of the community in carrying forward, in the 
most rapid manner, and on the most extended scale, those 
great industrial pursuits on which the capacity of the earth 
to sustain its population so immediately depends. He who 
operates extensively and perseveringly in this work, is not only 
employing his own energies in the most effectual manner, for 
adding to the means of human comfort and enjoyment, but is 
also aiding in the work of making employment for others. He 
promotes the general industry as well as the general wealth. 

It is curious to observe that not only is it true, as has been 
shown above, that doing business is in itself doing good, but 
it is also true, within certain limits and under certain restric- 
tions, that the amount of business which a man has accom- 
plished, and the amount of property which he has conse- 
quently acquired, is in some sense a measure of the good 
which he has done. These limits and restrictions are that 
the business is a legitimate and proper one, that it has been 
properly conducted, and that the avails of it have been prop- 
erly husbanded and preserved. There is an impression 
prevailing among a certain class of minds, that he who ac- 
quires a fortune acquires it in some sense from the commu- 
nity, in such a way that the community must be so much 
the poorer, in consequence of his having become richer. 
The reverse of this is however generally true. A man can not 
introduce a new business into a village or town, and acquire 
a fortune by means of it, without at the same time enriching 
in a great ' measure the village or town itself; — or at least 
without adding a great deal to the means, and consequently 
to the comforts of the inhabitants. The reason of this will be 
obvious on an analysis of the operation in a particular case. 

Let us suppose, for instance, that a wheelwright — an 
industrious and enterprising young man, commences the 
prosecution of his trade in a new country. He opens his 



PROPERTY AS A MEANS OF DOING GOOD. 



379 



The wagon-maker. 



Transactions analyzed. 



Buyer and seller. 







Bhop and makes a wag- 
on. He offers his 
wagon for sale for forty 
dollars. A neighbor- 
ing farmer, after con- 
sideration of the case, 
determines to buy it. Jpjr - ■- ■■ ■■■■' '■-■■'-■ 

\ . ■:- i i''l iii- f _,"_.. .■■■_'■_■_"'-'■■ ■ 

advantage to buy it. jM%^?-7 "~ ■■'-""" 

He pays forty dollars ifi§lf=|l^ii^ifk- : " > 

f ■ - - .■'■■/ it < . _:.-_. -'-^- ^ .. =rS#^' J5 

to the forty dollars. -"."_•_ :._~ .-__'-- -^ -\ '"'-' P^^^r 

That is to say, in •■ :- . = S' C " '~^ : ->' -" 

<•!■■ u. j- i ■:;.■ ; - ._-. • -.:_-}■■ - : - ' '." ' ~ 

' ; : " ■-':■- - :: -■-■"-'- - : - -.- ■---■ - "4:-^ ? 

wagon, an additional the wagon. 

advantage, the hope of 

which additional advantage is his inducement to make the 
purchase. After he has bought the wagon, if the wagon- 
maker were to die, or remove from the place, so that he could 
not obtain another, he would not sell his wagon we will say 
for fifty dollars ; that is, we will suppose, for the purpose of 
this illustration, that in exchanging his money for the wagon, 
he has obtained something which is worth to him ten dollars 
more than the amount that he paid for it. 

And then, on the other band, it has been an advantage to 
the wagoner to sell his wagon. It cost him to make it, in 
time, money, and labor, thirty dollars, we will suppose ; so 
that the transaction is an advantage to him of ten dollars. 
We suppose the advantage gained by the two parties to this 
transaction to be equal, for though they might not be pre- 
cisely equal in any single case like the one supposed, yet 
viewing the subject on a great scale, and considering all 
human transactions in the mass, the advantage may fairly 



380 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Advantage gained by the purchaser. Proof that it is great. 

and properly be taken to be equal between the buyer and the 
seller. Consequently the wagon-maker, for every ten dollar! 
of profit that he himself receives, must be considered as having 
conferred upon some farmer, or teamster, or traveler, a corres- 
ponding benefit over and above the price paid for the wagons 
that he makes for them. These benefits all added together 
will make an amount equal to the total of his profits, so that 
at the end of his life the fortune which he has acquired is a 
measure, in some sense, of the benefit he has conferred upon 
others in acquiring it. He makes two fortunes in fact, in 
making one. The one is for himself. The other is dis- 
tributed through the community, and adds, to that extent, to 
the general posperity. 

It may perhaps be supposed by the reader, that the advan- 
tage which the purchaser of an article ordinarily derives from 
it, over and above the money which he pays, is overrated in 
the reasoning above ; and it may be said that people are 
ordinarily careful not to pay any thing more for an article 
than it is worth, and that very often, after they have made 
a purchase, they feel discontented and dissatisfied, fearing or 
imagining that they have paid more than they ought to have 
done. This is doubtless true, — but what they mean by the 
worth of the article, in such a case, is, what they could have 
obtained it for elsewhere, not its real value to them as an 
article of use. If when a person has made a purchase, he 
has reason to think that he might have obtained the article 
for a less sum, he is discontented ; and this iiot because it 
was not of great advantage to him to have bought it as he 
did, but because it would have been of greater advantage 
still, if he had bought it cheaper. That men do gain an 
advantage over and above the price that they pay for their 
purchases, is evident from the fact that they make purchases. 
They would not give up the money for the article unless 
they supposed that the article was better for them. That 



PROPERTY AS A MEANS OF DOING GOOD. 381 

The argument from theory. Argument from observation. 

the advantage thus gained is very considerable, is proved 
from this fact, that were the means of procuring any particu- 
lar article whatever suddenly to fail, so that no more could 
be made and sold, every existing article of that kind would 
immediately rise very greatly in value. If in any region of 
country, for example, where a wagon-maker had lived for 
many years, and had supplied the people with wagons at 
forty dollars apiece, there should come, in some way or 
other, a total interruption to the supply, so that no more 
vehicles could be procured in any way, those already made 
would immediately command double or treble the price which 
had been paid for them. That is to say, the actual benefit 
which the purchasers derived from the use of the wagons 
was very much above the price paid for them, and the 
nominal and market value had been kept down to that sum, 
only because of the continuance of the supply. 

This great truth, then, that he who acquires property by 
any legitimate and honest business, instead of taking the 
amount which he acquires from the community, actually 
confers upon the community itself a benefit equal to that 
which he himself receives, and makes them richer, while he 
enriches himself, is not only sustained by the theoretical 
considerations above adduced, but is abundantly confirmed 
by practical observation. Where an enterprising and active 
man, with talents, industry and capital, goes into any com- 
munity and commences his operations there, he generally not 
only prospers himself, but he diffuses a general prosperity all 
around, him. Dwellings multiply, the comforts and con- 
veniences of life are increased, industry increases, schools 
improve, and children are better clothed and better fed. 
However selfish the man may be whose enterprise and ac- 
tivity produces this general improvement, and however far 
from his thoughts all desire or intention to produce it may 
have been,— the effect will inevitably follow, through the 



382 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Benefits conferred upon society. Influence of capital. 

operation of inflexible and universal laws, which no manage- 
ment on his part can counteract, or essentially impede. 

In a word, the true state of the case may be summed up 
thus : a man can not prosper in any honest business without 
benefiting the community as well as himself, — for he can 
not induce men to deal with him without offering them an 
advantage ; and taking all the transactions of life together, 
the advantages which men offer to others must, on the whole, 
be equal to those which they receive themselves. Doing 
business, therefore, is a very effectual and extended mode of 
doing good ; and the fortune which is acquired in doing it, 
is, in a very important sense, the measure and index of the 
good done. 

Besides these incidental benefits necessarily conferred upon 
society in the very process of acquiring property, there are 
the uses which may be made of it as an engine of power, 
when it is acquired. How vast is the influence of capital, 
and how prodigious is the power that is wielded by means 
of it, in carrying forward the great movements of the present 
age. The bankers, the builders and owners of steamships, 
the great associations of capitalists organized for the purpose 
of effecting the vast constructions of the present age, are 
wielding an influence among mankind, which is beginning 
to be superior to that of governments and kings. How im- 
portant is it now, that for the next century this influence and 
power should be, as far as possible, in the hands of the good. 
Suppose that men of high moral and Christian principle were 
generally to withdraw from this field. Suppose that undef 
some mistaken views of religious duty they were to impose 
limits, beyond which they would not allow their property,— 
that is, their poiver,—io increase, and that in consequence 
of such determinations the control and direction of the great 
industrial operations of the social state, were to devolve upon 



PROPERTY AS A MEANS OF DOING GOOD. 383 

Practical considerations. Duty of young men. Present age of the world. 

the unprincipled and the evil, — what extended and disastrous 
effects on the future welfare of the race might he expected 
to follow. 



The considerations in respect to the nature and use of 
property which have been advanced in the preceding dis- 
cussion, seem to lead directly to the following practical re- 
sults. 

1 . It is the duty of every young man who is forming his 
plans of life to consider capital as power, and to see that 
under the general obligation which rests upon him to increase 
his power to do good as much as he can, he is bound to aim 
at the acquisition of property. In fact, a man in any of the 
ordinary pursuits of life, is under precisely the same obliga- 
tion to endeavor to increase his capital, that he is to endeavor 
to improve his mind and increase his stores of useful knowl- 
edge. Progress in each of those respects increases his power, 
and he is bound not only to use well the power that he has, 
but to increase it as much as possible, so as to add to his 
future efficiency. Whatever his profession or occupation 
may be, he is bound to work on as extended a scale, and in 
as efficient a manner as possible, in order that he may con- 
tribute as much to the general good, as the nature of the 
case will possibly allow. 

It must be remembered too that the duty of which we are 
speaking is greater and more imperative at the present day 
than at any former period, and it is growing greater and 
more imperative every year. This results from the fact that 
on account of the immense improvements which have recent- 
ly been made, and which are now making, in the art of 
systematizing labor, and employing expensive machinery and 
great constructions *in accomplishing the purposes of life, 
capital is far more indispensable as an engine of business 
power now than it was half a century ago ; and it will be 



384 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

These principles of universal application. Four effects. 

still more indispensable in the next half-century than it is in 
this. The destinies of the world are, in a word, passing into 
the hands of those who wield the money power of the world ; 
and every man who is placed in a situation, in the provi- 
dence of God, which enables him to gain possession of and 
to exercise any portion of this power, will most assuredly be 
held accountable for the manner in which he has availed 
himself of the opportunity. 

2. These principles apply with the same force to those 
who are engaged in the more humble pursuits of life, as to 
those who are engaged in the highest. The merchant or 
navigator who transacts business on an extensive scale, in a 
great commercial emporium, is bound by them ; and so is 
the mechanic or the laborer, in the quiet village, or in the 
most retired hamlet among the mountains. For in its due 
measure and proportion, the advantage is just as great in the 
one case as in the other. The great city merchant doubles 
his influence and his power by doubling his large capital. 
The village laborer produces the same enlargement of his 
means of influence by doubling his small capital. The effect 
is the same in the two cases, though the scale on which the 
operation is performed is greater in the one case than in the 
other. 

3. There are four distinct points of view in which we are 
to consider that a man, whatever his position in life may be, 
enlarges his means of doing good by pursuing a prudent and 
thrifty policy in the management of his affairs. That is, in 
addition to the indirect and general influence which he exerts 
upon the community around him in acquiring property, there 
are four ways in which his course of management, and the 
thrifty condition which results from it, operate directly to 
place him in a better position for doing good than he would 
otherwise enjoy. Let us consider these four points in detail. 

In the first place, the very fact that a man manages his 



PROPERTY AS A MEANS OF DOING GOOD. 385 

First effect of worldly prosperity. Evil effects of laxity. 

affairs in a prudent, careful, and sagacious manner, and that 
he is consequently thrifty and forehanded in all his affairs, 
gives him a great influence among his neighbors, independent- 
ly of any actual accumulation of property. If a young man, 
commencing life in any retired country town, is industrious 
and frugal, and resolutely keeps his expenses and those of his 
family so far below his income, that he always has money at 
his command, if all claims against him are always promptly 
paid, if he buys for cash, and keeps all his accounts in an 
exact and methodical manner, he immediately assumes a 
position in the estimation of the community around him, 
which at once gives him a great influence. It imparts 
weight and importance to all that he says and does. He is 
more highly respected, and his example, whether it be on the 
side of piety and virtue, or of irreligion and vice, has far 
greater power to win others to the imitation of it. Even if 
the property which he acquires by this wise and prudent 
policy were to be sunk in the sea as fast as he should acquire 
it, there would still remain a great good done, by, the in- 
creased weight and influence which his example and influ- 
ence would have among his neighbors and friends, by the 
character which he would exhibit in his mode of acquiring 
it. I do not refer in this to his Christian character ; that will 
be considered under another head, but only to his business 
character ; — his thrift, his industry, his trustworthiness, and 
his success. The exhibition of these qualities gives great 
weight and influence to him who exemplifies them. 

On the other hand, where a man, however sincere and 
honest a Christian he may be, is lax and negligent in the 
management of his affairs, behindhand in his payments, and 
accustomed to disappoint those who depend upcn his promises, 
he undermines by his business habits the influence which he 
endeavors to exert as a servant of God. His voice, in the 
consultation of his friends and neighbors, is not regarded 
R 



386 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Use of capital. The widow and her son. Charity. 

His recommendations have no weight. They whom he 
decejves and disappoints, in their vexation condemn and. 
despise religion itself in the person of its professor, and his 
example, if it is regarded at all, is pointed at only to be 
shunned. 

In the second place, there is, as has already been shown, 
the capital itself which would be accumulated by a thrifty 
course of management, to be employed subsequently in wid- 
ening one's sphere of usefulness. If a case occurs where any 
good project demanding the use of money is proposed, a pros- 
perous man can at once co-operate in carrying it into effect. 
He can aid it too, not merely by the amount of his own con- 
tribution ; his contribution will carry in the contribution of 
others. Money seems to be subject to a species of sympathy, 
and one sum goes easily where another has gone before it. 
A good man, heading a subscription for the establishment of 
a library in his native town, will induce his friends and neigh- 
bors to join with him in the enterprise, and all will readily put 
down their names in behalf of it ; while, if he had been a bad 
man, and his subscription had been for opening a race-course, 
a great portion of the same men would have perhaps subscribed 
the same money, for that object. The good man, therefore, 
may not only use his own money for good purposes, but the 
very possession of the money gives him in some sense the 
power of using his neighbors' money too. 

It is very interesting to observe how many ways occur by 
which a man may use money for the purposes of doing good, 
without alienating it. For example, a widowed mother is left 
in destitute circumstances by the death of her husband, and 
the neighbors feel a strong interest in aiding her. Among 
the children, there is a son just come of age, an industrious, 
orudent, and intelligent young man. He is such a man aa 
can use capital in business safely and to great advantage. 
Now while the neighbors, in the use of such scanty means as 



PROPERTY AS A MEANS OF DOING GOOD. 387 

Building houses. The wool merchant. 

are at their command, are sending in little presents of food 
and clothing to cheer the widow's heart, and render her a 
little temporary aid, a wealthy Christian merchant who lives 
near, knowing the character of the son, and understanding 
all the circumstances of the case, sees that it will be safe for 
hirn to advance a sum of money to establish the young man 
in business at once. The plan succeeds. The family are 
immediately raised to a position of independence and comfort. 
The young man in due time repays the money, with the in- 
terest ; the merchant returning it to his coffers, holding it 
ready there for some new work of usefulness when the way 
shall appear. 

Such self-sustaining ways of doing good are the best ways. 
He who buys wool on a large scale, paying a fair price for it 
promptly at the farmers' doors, so as to encourage the popu- 
lation of the surrounding mountains to raise more sheep than 




THE WOOL MERCHANT. 




388 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Contributions to charity. 

they otherwise would have done, is engaged more effectually 
in clothing the destitute, than if he gave the money to the 
poor. His "being able afterward to sell the wool at an ad- 
vance, is what gives life and effectiveness and perpetuity to 
this mode of action ; for it gives him the means in each fol- 
lowing year to do more good than he could in the one pre- 
ceding. So a man who builds a house and lets it to a poor 
man, encouraging him, in the mean time, in his efforts 
to earn money by his industry, and aiding him in obtaining 
work, so that the tenant can pay back a rent for his dwel- 
ling, does good in a much more wholesome, safe, and effect- 
ual way, than if he gave the rent of the house as a deed 
of charity, — besides keeping his resources good for future 
operations. 

Thus, if a man's great object and aim is the promotion 
of human happiness, the most effectual and most perma- 
nent means is to use his property right, without alienating 
it, — to consider it, in a word, an engine to be etwploxjed, not 
a stock to be expended. The best test, in fact, in many cases, 
of the actual good which is done by money expended or em- 
ployed, is the return which is made ; — provided always that 
the business is an honest one, and is conducted in an honor- 
able manner. For the return is in some sense a measure of 
the benefit which the community has received, 

In the third place, among the ways by which the posses- 
sion of property will aid in doing good, is the ordinary mode 
of giving money, commonly so called, for there undoubtedly 
are cases in which the good can only be done by an aliena- 
tion of the money. I do not propose to dwell upon this point, 
as it is very often explained and enforced. What is strictly 
called charity, that is, the appropriating of money to the re- 
lief of the sick and of the poor, to the sending of the gospel 
to the heathen, to the dissemination of the Scriptures and 
other religious writings, to the maintenance of the gospel in 



PROPERTY AS A MEANS OF DOING GOOD.' b89 

Piety in high stations. False views of some Christians. 

remote and destitute districts, and other similar objects, is a 
duty which the Christian church is hound to discharge, with 
a free and generous hand. The fact that they who are 
wealthy can help forward these works in so much more 
effectual a manner than others, is a reason why every Chris- 
tian should be enterprising, industrious, and frugal, in order 
that he may acquire the wealth necessary for promoting them. 

And then, in the fourth place, the possession of property, in- 
dependently of any use that is made of it, gives a weight and 
momentum to the personal religious character of the Chris- 
tian, that is of the highest value. We have a great many 
instances of the power of consistent religious example in the 
case of poor men. The power is, however, immensely greater 
in the case of men of wealth and high standing. If in any 
village, the principal inhabitants in respect to property and 
station, are humble, honest, and devoted Christians, their 
example exerts a most powerful influence down through all 
the gradations of society. Their regard for the Sabbath and 
for all religious institutions, their habits of prayer, their hon- 
est, unaffected good-will for all, their conscientious sense of 
duty, — when these principles are possessed and acted upon, 
— make an impression upon the public mind far more ex- 
tensive and more permanent than would be produced by the 
same number of individuals in obscure and humble stations. 
Every man, therefore, who wishes that his influence in favor 
of the cause of Christ should be felt widely, must look to his 
pecuniary condition, and take such a course as shall, in this 
respect, place him in the right position in the eyes of his 
fellow-men. 

There are thus four entirely distinct and independent 
modes in which the possession of property places a man on 
higher ground than he would otherwise occupy as a laborer 
in the cause of God Instead therefore of the feeling, which 
many persons seem to entertain, that the acquisition of prop 



390 


THE "WAY TO. DO GOOD. 


Cautions. 


Accumulation of property. 



erty is an evil or a danger, and that Christians ought reso- 
lutely to confine it within certain prescribed and definite 
limits, we ought to consider it as the road to the greatest 
Christian efficiency and influence, and every faithful servant 
of God ought to advance as far and as rapidly on the road as 
he can. His motives, ends and aims in doing this ought in- 
deed to be high and noble ; and he must be upright and 
honorable and conscientious too, in all his means and meas- 
ures. He must not be covetous. He must not love money 
for its own sake, or make it his idol. He must not make 
haste to be rich, and so fall into temptation and a snare, — ■ 
but he must press forward calmly, quietly, energetically and 
perseveringly, hand in hand with Christian brethren of every 
name and degree, in the great work which, in the course of 
the next half-century ought to be done throughout the Chris- 
tian world, of getting possession of the silver and gold of the 
earth, for its rightful owner, — the Lord. 

4. Parents should keep these considerations in mind far 
more fully than they generally do, in the education of their 
children, and train children more carefully to habits of fru- 
gality and economy. Many Christian parents seem to be 
afraid that their children will love money too much, and 
show too great a disposition to save it. But the danger is 
almost universally the other way. Parsimony is the fault of 
age, the tendency of youth is to profusion and extravagance. 
The danger from this source is greater too in America than 
in almost any other country. The young begin life here on 
too high a scale. The time between twenty and thirty is 
the time for laying the foundation of a fortune. A thousand 
dollars, laid up at twenty years of age in safe modes of in- 
vestment, becomes ten thousand dollars when the possessor 
is sixty ; and in the mean time may have been employed over 
and over again as a means of influence and usefulness, having 
grown to ten times its original magnitude by the very use to 



PROPERTY AS A MEANS OF DOING GOOD. 391 

Importance of beginning early. 

which it has been devoted. Children should therefore early 
be taught the difference between investing money and ex- 
pending it, Lead them to see that money invested remains 
in their control, to be employed as a means of influence and 
usefulness, and as an engine of doing good, and to grow con- 
tinually under their hands by being so employed ; while 
money that is expended is lost and gone. Lead them thus 
to entertain such ideas of the nature and value of money, 
and to form such habits in the use of it, that they shall at 
the outset of life bring down their expenses to such a point 
that there shall begin to be at once an accumulation of 
income. They will thus soon be placed above the condition 
of dependence, embarrassment and anxiety. Their influence 
over their fellow-men will be greatly increased ; their Chris- 
tian example will have far greater power ; and their means 
of usefuliv^ss will be in all respects very greatly extended. 



392 THE WAY TO DO GOOu. 

Plan completed. Recapitulation. 



CHAPTER XII. 



CONCLUSION. 



The plan which I had marked out for myself in the 
volumes of which this is the conclusion, being now accom- 
plished, nothing remains hut for me simply to recapitulate 
some of the fundamental principles on which the views 
maintained in these works are based, and then to bid my 
readers farewell. 

These principles may be briefly enumerated thus. 

1 . Lofty and expanded views of the character and govern- 
ment of God. I have endeavored to lead the reader to 
look upon Jehovah as the Universal Spirit, pervading and 
sustaining all things ; — and to draw him away from the 
absurd image of ivory and gold, which the imagination of 
childhood paints, out into the mighty universe which spreads 
itself inimitably all around us, and shows us God's doings 
and character in all the physical phenomena of nature, and 
in all the social and economical relations of man. 

Such views of the great Jehovah, will alone free the mind 
from virtual idolatry. They alone will light up all nature 
with an expression from God, and enable us to realize, in the 
most complete and thorough manner, his continual presence 
and agency. 

I ought, however, to warn my readers very distinctly of 
one danger arising from this view, and that is, that by 
considering God as the universal agency, operating through- 
out the universe, they maj lose sight of his personality 



CONCLUSION. 393 

theism. Another design of this work. 



We may feel that God is the great Universal Cause, and 
forget that he is a watchful, moral governor over every one 
of us. This is Pantheism. It makes every thing God, and 
while it extends everywhere his presence, it destroys his 
personality. It has "been a very common way hy which 
men have escaped from the moral control of their Maker. 
Philosophers discovered it, and it has been, in every age, 
considered a very adroit and beautiful mode of escaping 
from the claims of repentance and faith in Christ. It is 
the way chosen by the philosophers, the educated, the re- 
fined. They change Jehovah from a person to a principle, 
they lose all sense of his moral watchfulness over them, 
and of their accountability to him. In fact his very indi- 
viduality is gone, and all the pressure of accountability 
to him, on their part, goes with it, — and yet they pride 
themselves upon the loftiness of their religious position, and 
retain and pervert all the phraseology of piety to help them 
in the deception. They admire nature, and call it adoring 
God. 

Now we must beware of this danger, and as we expand 
our views of the divine character, and begin to conceive of 
him as the eternal and omnipresent spirit, we must not 
destroy his personality, nor lose sight, for a moment, of that 
strict and solemn accountability, to which he holds every 
intelligent creature that he has formed. 

2. It has been another design of this work, to lead the 
reader to a deep conviction of his own moral helplessness, as 
a sinner against God, and of the necessity of a radical change 
in his heart by the influences of the Holy Spirit. The degree 
of hopelessness and helplessness of a confirmed bad character, 
of any kind, is something which men feel, and understand, 
but which they do not like to express in language ; for they 
can not express it, without encroaching upon their theories 
of free agency. The strength and the weight of the chain 



394 THE WAY TO DO GOOD 

The slavery of sin. Freedom. Bondage. 

with which any established habit or besetting sin binds the 
victim, is a great restriction to the boundless freedom which 
we love to attribute to the human soul. One kind of free- 
dom is indeed boundless, in man, — the freedom with which 
the mental acts flow from the reigning desires. There is no 
outward restraint. The band which enthralls the human 
soul, is an iron rigidity within, and they who have ever really 
undertaken to grapple with any one sin, and to root it out 
from its place in the heart, will feel that sin is, after all, a 
slavery, — a bitter, helpless/hopeless slavery. 

Hopeless, — that is, if the poor victim is left unaided, in 
his struggles to get free. We may restrain the outward 
transgression by such considerations as we may force before 
our minds, but how shall we compel these deceitful and 
corrupt hearts to cease from loving transgression, and wish- 
ing that it might be safely indulged. A case of confirmed 
intemperance illustrates the difficulty. I have known such 
a victim, of kind feelings, of honesty, uprightness, intelligence, 
— made the slave of the great destroyer of men, — and in his 
days of reflection he would mourn and weep over his ruin, — 
his broken-hearted wife, his suffering children, — and resolve, 
and promise, and fix himself in the utmost firmness of human 
determination, that he would never yield to temptation again. 
But the hour of temptation came, and his decision and firm- 
ness would melt away. With all his struggles it would 
seem to him that he could not resist. 

Could he or could he not ? Was he free, or was he not 
free? Ah! he was free, and that very liberty was his 
destruction ; for it was freedom to act according to the 
reigning desires of his heart, and those desires had been 
hopelessly corrupted by long habits of sin. So ^with the 
soul in its attitude toward its Maker. With feelings averse 
to God, and to holy happiness, and they steady, permanent, 
and tending to perpetuate themselves, — and then with en- 



CONCLUSION. 



395 



Unlimited freedom. 



Suffering. 



tire and unlimited freedom to act according to those desires, 
its case is hopeless. If a moral restraint from without could 
intervene, there might be a hope of salvation ; but when 
the desires are wrong, to be left to perfect freedom, is to 
make destruction sure. So that the entire, unconditional 
liberty of the sinner who is left to his own ways, is the very 
key-stone of his dungeon ; it makes his moral ruin perpetual 
and hopeless. A thorough understanding of this will lead to 
a self-abandonment, and a surrender to the Savior, so com- 
plete and unconditional, as to give real peace and happiness 
to the most wounded soul. . It is this only which lays the 
proper foundation for happy piety. ■ 

That this view of the lost and helpless condition, of man 
is the true one, the study of our own hearts, observation of 
mankind, and the Word of God, combine to furnish a triple 
proof ; and there is nothing to oppose to it but theoretical difh 
culty. " For how," asks the unbeliever, " can you reconcile 
such views of the hope- • 

less ruin of an immor- „ u 
tal being, with the 
power, . and benevo- 
lence, and holiness of 
God?" 

I can not reconcile 
them, and so the squir- 
rel, whose limb a sports- 
man has shot away for 
his amusement, crawl- 
ing into his hole in 
agony, presents a spec- 
tacle which it is equal- 
ly impossible to recon- 
cile with the power, the fountain. 




396 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

Existence of suffering inexplicable. 

and benevolence, and holiness of God. You can not take a 
step toward the solution of either one of these difficulties, — 
not a single step. Men have talked and reasoned about the 
existence of sin and suffering, and attempted to explain them ; 
and there is no impropriety in such speculations ; — but they 
make no progress whatever, in making it plain to the human 
mind how a single instance of sin and suffering can possibly 
exist in a world governed by spotless holiness, and by bound- 
less power. But when you have explained how there can 
be one hour of sin and suffering, the difficulty is all over, 
for the explanation will answer as well for the second hour 
as the first, and for every succeeding one. Just as when 
you have explained the formation of one drop, you have 
explained the whole shower, — and not only that one, but all 
other showers that ever have fallen, or will fall forever. 
Vast and insuperable, therefore, as are the difficulties which 
hang over the prospect of the utter and perpetual moral ruin 
of any man, they are all removed by explaining any single 
instance of sin and suffering. Tell me how Judas could have 
betrayed his Master, and suffered such remorse and anguish 
for it, while on earth, and I will tell you how it can be, that 
he is sinning and suffering now ; and I will repeat the 
explanation, for any other hour of his future existence, 
whenever you may call for it. 

The theoretical difficulty, then, while we acknowledge its 
force, ought not to operate as a presumption against what 
our own experience, and the Word of God, unite to maintain, 
for the difficulty applies equally to what w r e know to exist, 
and therefore, though it appears insuperable to us, we are 
compelled to believe that there is a solution for it ; and the 
solution which will cover one case, will cover all. The dif- 
ficulty is not increased by multiplying the cases to which it 
will apply. Every separate portion of the existence of a fal- 
len angel, or of a fallen man, may be considered a distinct 



CONCLUSION. 397 



Christ the atoning sacrifice. 



example of the existence of sin and suffering, and whenever 
we are able to see the compatibility of one of them with the 
boundless power and love of the Supreme, we shall under- 
stand the compatibility of all. 

The doctrine of the Bible, then, is, that sin perpetuates 
itself; and we see and feel this, its essential tendency, in all 
our experience of its nature. It does it, however, not by any 
compulsion from without, forcing man to sin, contrary to his 
desires, but by changing and corrupting those desires, and 
setting them permanently in the wrong direction. The de- 
sires and the heart thus corrupted, and alienated from God, 
freedom, of itself, becomes ruin, and any one who looks into 
his soul, with careful self-examination, to study its feelings 
toward God, and to make them what they ought to be, will 
find, after a few hard and weary struggles, that the repre- 
sentations of the Bible in respect to the deathlike helpless- 
ness of the sinner, are too true. I have wished to draw the 
reader to these views. They are, I am convinced, funda- 
mentally necessary. They, and they only, will lead to that 
humble attitude before God, and that simple reliance on his 
Spirit, which will secure any proper progress in piety. 

4. It has been the intention of this work to lead the sinner 
to trust in the sufferings and death of Jesus Christ, as the 
atoning sacrifice, by which it becomes just and safe to for- 
give his sins. We escape a great many philosophical diffi- 
culties, I admit, by rejecting this view, and considering Jesus 
Christ as only a human teacher of moral and religious truth ; 
but with the difficulties, we lose all the life and spirit of 
piety. The human soul has always, in every country and 
in every age, hungered and thirsted for a sacrifice for its sins, 
and it always will. The mind of man is so constituted, that 
it must instinctively feel that there is something incomplete 
and unfinished in transgression, until punishment, or some- 
thing to take the place of punishment, has ensued. You can 



398 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

The way of peaue. The soul thirsts for it. 

not quiet a child whose conscience is wounded by some 
wrong toward yourself that he has done, by simply saying 
that you forgive him. There is a moral instinct that expects 
something more. So the soul, in its maturity, when con- 
science is wounded by its sins against God, can not be com- 
pletely soothed by offering to it mere forgiveness. There may 
be, possibly, repentance, as we have before shown, without a 
very distinct knowledge of the Savior, — and also a very great 
diminution of anxiety, — but there can not be perfect peace. 
Foreboding fears will linger in the heart, and anxious solici- 
tude about the future disturb its hopes of pardon. Then, 
besides, a vital union with the Son of God, as the Redeemer 
and Keeper of the soul, a connection with him as the Great 
Mediator, the Justifier, constitutes the great moral means of 
defense against future sin. It is the refuge to which the soul 
flies in its hours of trial, feeling that such a connection is just 
what it wants, and what it must have. We make resolu- 
tions and break them. We renew them in hours of solitude 
and reflection, but when we are again in the world, they are 
again disregarded and forgotten, — bad principles and bad 
passions gradually and insensibly gain the mastery over us, 
and after repeated efforts and struggles, each returning hour 
of solitude and reflection finds our condition more hopeless 
than before. Discouraged, disheartened, and almost in de- 
spair, the soul pauses in gloomy doubt, whether to renew 
again the hopeless toil, or give up all. Now it is at such a 
time as this that the soul understands and feels the meaning 
of flying to Jesus, — appropriating his righteousness, — look- 
ing up for pardon, through his atoning sufferings, — and, in 
utter self-abandonment, casting all on him. You can not 
make this phraseology intelligible to a worldly man, while in 
the midst of his worldliness, and never feeling the bitterness 
and the weight of the bondage of sin. But they who have 
felt these burdens, almost always find in the atoning suffer- 



CONCLUSION. 



399 



Disposal of the difficulties. 



ings of a divine Redeemer, just such a refuge as they most 
eagerly desire. It always has been so, in all ages of the 
world. The most devoted and consistent piety has always 
been coupled with the most distinct conceptions of the utter 
ruin and helplessness of man, and of his sole reliance on the 
influences of the Holy Spirit for his sanctification, and on the 
obedience and atoning sufferings of a divine Redeemer for his 
justification and pardon. 

I do not deny that philosophical acumen may involve these 
views in very serious and real difficulties ; and so it may any 
other subject whatever that has as many relations as this 
has, to the unseen, spiritual world. There will always be 
many difficulties, where any one is interested to find them. 
Our wisest course therefore is, to take home to our souls the 
view which is so clearly fitted for them, and which the ob- 
vious meaning of Scripture plainly authorizes ; and to leave 
the difficulties for another day. 

In respect to redemp- 
tion by Jesus Christ, 
and the philosophical 
objections which may 
be urged against it, 
the soul will feel when 
it is really burdened 
with its sins, as a thirs- 
ty man before a foun- 
tain of water, with 
Berkeley by his side, 
attempting to prove to 
him that water is no 
reality. Though he 
can not reply to the 
subtile argument, he 
will drink nnd quench his thirst ; and so will we. 




SUFFERING. 



400 THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

The church and the denominations. Promoting holiness and happiness. 

5. I have wished to inculcate liberal views in respect to 
all the non-essentials of Christianity. Just in proportion 
as the mind is turned away from the consideration of the 
moral ruin of man, and from the direct application of the 
great moral and spiritual remedy as widely as possible, — 
and is occupied about forms and organizations, and the de- 
tails of theological speculations, just in that proportion will 
true piety decline, true, genuine love for the souls of men 
grow cool, and the subject become a partisan, a disputant, 
a manager, suspicious and jealous of sister branches of the 
church, and a dead weight upon the Savior's cause. We 
want to have our souls strongly interested in promoting, by 
any proper means, the salvation of men from their sins ; and 
while we are steady and faithful in our attachment to the in- 
stitutions and forms with which we have been connected, we 
shall, if our hearts are really set upon the promotion of God's 
cause, rejoice in the success of other laborers, and allow them 
to love their institutions and their modes of operation, as we 
love ours. 

6. These works have endeavored to exhibit piety, as ac- 
tive, — going forth to the work of promoting holiness and hap- 
piness of every kind and in every degree. This comparative 
diminution of interest in one's own private and personal pur- 
suits, and desire to engage as a co-operator with God in pro- 
moting universal good, is at once the fruit and the evidence 
of piety ; and the degree of genuine, heartfelt, persevering 
interest with which we engage in our Master's work, is per- 
haps the best measure of the degree in which we possess his 
spirit. I have endeavored to delineate the temper and the 
feelings with which this work should be done. This spirit I 
have represented as mild, gentle, patient, unobtrusive. It 
should take this form generally among those for whom these 
books are chiefly written. While, however, in our ordinary 
intercourse with mankind, we act in this gentle manner, we 



CONCLUSION 401 



Various modes of doing good. The author's farewell. 

ought not to feel that all violent collision with sin is wrong, 
and condemn those who, from the circumstances in which 
Providence has placed them, are led to engage in an active 
warfare against it. Such violent struggles are sometimes, 
though perhaps seldom, unavoidahle, and we must not feci 
irritation or anger against those who use what we consider 
harsh or severe language in denouncing sin, or in meas- 
ures to oppose it. Jesus Christ could rebuke sharply. He 
once drove sinners away from their work of wickedness, with 
a scourge ; he described a class of guilty men as a generation 
of vipers, and called one of his disciples a devil. This should 
not, indeed, lead us to habits of severity and denunciation, 
but it should, at least, mitigate the censorious feelings which 
we are prone to cherish toward those who rebuke sin with a 
bluntness which we ourselves should not think of imitating. 
Moral remedies are as various as moral diseases, and he to 
whom Providence has, by circumstances, or by constitutional 
temperament, committed one class of them, should not cen- 
sure harshly, those who have been intrusted with another. 
John ought not to frown at the boldness of Peter, nor Peter 
look with contempt upon the mildness and gentleness of 
John. 

We should, on the contraiy, all remember, that to each of 
us is committed our own separate and distinctive work in the 
vineyard of the Lord, and that for the manner in which we 
discharge the duties assigned us, we are responsible, not to 
one another, but to our Master above. 

My work is done. It is four years since these illustrations 
of Christianity were commenced ; and the pen was taken 
up with much hesitation and fear. So great has been the 
indulgence, however, with which these humble attempts 
have been received, both in England and America, that I 
find myself in the midst of a vast assemblage, no tv that I am 



402 . THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 



about to take my leave. I tremble to think of the respon- 
sibility which I have been bearing, — a responsibility whose 
extent and magnitude I so little foresaw. May God forgive 
all that has been wrong, either in writer or readers, and 
make use of these volumes as an humble part of that mighty 
instrumentality, which he is now employing, to bring back 
this lost world again to Him. 



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